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thomas-popp
American I love poetry and prose and like to pretend that I can write it as well.
You said, "give it time and you'll feel better." At first, I believed you and so dragged myself on. But now, every day more acute than the last, I've come to hate those words you left me with. They linger for hours into the night while I pretend to sleep They take from me the future of ours, each time anew It was a lifetime ago, but my wounds are still deep Held by the stitches of the last words you shared Unable to heal in the salve of time, Kept fresh by the miasma of your tales
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Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
Still
I ask myself, "What is lacking?" as vanity chokes the answer, Forced to admit that I am perfect, Perfect for myself and only in mine eyes. I see now, See clear as beautiful Narcissus. While virtue pools around me, I stare back into my limpid eyes. A ripple tears across the surface, Muddling what a moment ago was so clear. Imperfection in the smallest of measures. Oh how I hold that moment dear.
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Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 4:00 AM UTC
Self Reflection
You'll always be mine – for that moment in time, With my heart in your hands and yours in mine. I've soared and I've stumbled to this perfect scene, Many a time in many a dream. I'll never let go.   I'll always hold you tight. You showed me what love meant on that perfect night.
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Apr 7, 2012
Apr 7, 2012 at 2:15 AM UTC
Perfect Night