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 Grandeur Of Melancholy

The Fallen

There is a way down
those stairs that amount
to falling down 
the clouds when

you find.

The not disgraced people,
that somehow of old
when plagues arrive,

or when the unknowns
are feared and not
treasured, the fallen
rise again. Because
we are here.

The earth is our 
home, and our prison.
We should decide
that the heavens
don't keep up with.

I find when I fall
I should get back up
but hell is where I am from
and the month spent
with a demon told me so.

That I might have to rise
to fall.

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