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By PaulMental, Oshkosh, WI

As the grand clock toned
my entrance home
was coupled with an aura so sore.
When I emptied my satchel,
up from my work's gravel
came my folder upon the bedroom floor.
Once a vivacious soul one may favor;
a centerpiece of my workplace to hold such papers
but his image did dictate of how his current state seemed poor.
As he wallowed to his knees,
his creaky voice presented speech
and spouted the confessions of his distresses upon the bedroom floor.
"These distresses I confess" he would contest,
must be evident to you before my rest
so you may be haunted by my daunting life's lore.
My decaying texture deters beauty's touches,

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