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TEARS AT THE MARGINS

A tribe looks into the sun
Wondering if they had betrayed God or vice versa
Their King shading a tear, not for himself but for a people
Life was threatened 
Fear for their children gripped them
Hope for them dimming like twilight 
Neighbors holding them in derision
But one last torch was left unspent
The torch of corruption and filth
They hated it but that was their last hope
After deep reflection and the King quiet
The elders spoke and said
" It is time to raise a mafia, whose filth matches the world
Whose darkness can fight with their darkness
Only he will be able to bring back our light
Only he will fight for us"

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