A poet cannot be frugal,
miserly with his thoughts
and feeling; but, indeed,
a rabid spendthrift, where
there are matters of the
heart – a radiating sun
when his soul uncovered...
though we are beings of
vast contrast, Light when
Write, painfully dark when
venturing into silent
shadows – those aching
lulls when muted – the
thunder when speaking
with God-like temperament,
pianissimos, fortified by
deep breaths of character
possessing...
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