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I feel that I've not done, Everything that I should do. I've not found the sun, Nor what rain, May have to prove. Every word is dry, With a fighting attitude, Trying to deny, What I'd truly say to you. I've tried to be the kind, To write, And please your very eyes. Yet there comes a time, When my muse, Runs and hides. Nay! This game of pain, Is not what I ordain. Peace will be sustained, On the day, I write again.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2015

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Date: 8/6/2015 1:26:00 PM
This is going on my fav list too and I am slapping a big ole 7 on it!
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Date: 8/6/2015 1:25:00 PM
Omg! I stopped by to visit after the comment you left on my poem. The first one I opened, happened to be this work of art! Ironically, I just enjoyed the flow of the words at first, not knowing exactly what you were saying. After I read the first comment, I had to read it again. Not only is this poem a masterpiece, but I cannot express to you how strongly I battle with this very thing! It is so frustrating when I write out a long beautiful poem and reader's comments prove this very delima!
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Date: 8/6/2015 10:24:00 AM
Sometimes we poets have to write for ourselves because not everyone may understand our words. And then there is that thing called definitely has a mind of its own. Good day J.T.
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Date: 8/5/2015 2:15:00 PM
Deep write, JT. I loved the bit about writing for the eyes of the reader. Very heartfelt and sweet. I hope all is ok. Sending hugs
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Book: Shattered Sighs