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Poetry || SubmissionsDEADSVILLE.COMBy John Marks Despite those broken dreams (and all that the dead man said) the steady irritation of rain predominates; and in this time of rain your baby feet still patter in my head. See through the glass darkly, see prophet or son,. arise with the risen, and fade with the sun, be striven, be deadly, be bleedin inside, seen through a glass darkly, there's nowhere to hide. So flee with the stranger, and hide in the rain, we've squandered our riches, we're never the same; mosaics in tatters, still gleam in my head, I hear your refrain now: 'I am dead, I am dead I rise with the moon-time, and set in the day, and stick in your memory, and won't fade away'. John MarksI am English, forty-eight and father of five. My wife is Irish and we live in Manchester in the north of England. I have had two collections of poems published in the UK. I welcome e-mail responses to my poems on the net. Today's Situation
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