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Title: Annexe

by starshower from Lancashire | in writing, poetry, story-telling

Too hot, too cold,
Too crammed, too empty
The nine hours of silence
That created a story.

Alone she sat,
Waiting, watching
As passersby walked on
Not knowing of the girl
Who still lives on.

Who betrayed her?
Could they live on?
Knowing that blood was on their hands,
Of seven people they could know?

Snatched so young,
Dreams and words,
Cut short and sliced
Like her life,
Into oblivion.

Heartbreak, tears,
Love, forgivness,
Scribbled on a page,
Scattered across the floor was found,
Her heart, her tears, her wrath.

Too hot, too cold,
Too full, to empty,
The nine hours of silence...
That wrote Anne's story.

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This is another poem about Anne Frank.


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