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Six Feet Below
Past the fence is where they lay,
This is their home, this is their ground,
This is where they cry,
In this place they rest and are never found.
Here he put them when he was through,
Here is the place he comes when his work is done,
They all lay and watch, they used to be few
Now it has become his hobby what he does for fun.
They want to tell you, they send you dreams,
Yet we block these dreams for we are scared,
We shall never know what it means,
And so we shall be in darkness and the pain will never be repaired.
In this hidden graveyard they lay,
They watch people walk past unknowing,
They watch them day by day.
Being the only ones that know the truth, they hold the knowing.
He does his work so quietly, so well,
That we never see him coming, we never know.
Is he saying the truth, the living will never be able to tell,
For if you want to know the truth you have to be six feet below.
poem
by
Bethany Maxwell
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