Another poem (no title)

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It's hard to imagine a rose so white,

It's hard to think of a bright, blinding light.

It's hard to be truthful to yourself all day,

And hard to be brutal to those who had gone astray.

Never mind those sorrows, who have found a home in your heart,

Try to forget tomorrows, which the thought of tears you apart.

It's hard to remember what you once hoped was your fate,

So hard, to forever, keep track of all the lives, those deaths in which you did participate.

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