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I Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly

Every work of art ever made Was conceived in pain, I think. It is beautiful on its own, Pain, But to think that a soul could be so twisted, So damaged, so worn And bent And wrung, And then, gather itself together, Enough to make something- Anything- It is more than beautiful. It is beauty. It is why so many artists are so sad. Making poetry doesn’t hurt people- Hurting people make poetry.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017




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