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Whisper
American
Poems
5
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3
Words
312
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Muse
My Muse is a fickle fair weathered breeze, / staying just long enough to rustle my leaves and abandoning me / burning in the passionate colors of Fall.
28
2.1k
Rag doll
Are nightmares only for the sleeping? / Or do they fester and grow / on the furrows of our soul
8
1.1k
Frost Owls
Id like to draw you a soul that fits mine. / The two halves of a small glass shell. / But.
65
950
Lincoln Said
Wars rage in between the static charge of our hatred. / Look at us. / For once, really look.
17
718
Chains
For most people / chains are apart of their being. / They are chained to a job
33
694
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