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Sometimes the Moon is just
the Moon
Stars simply stars
They're just reliable objects
They just are
And birds are just birds
They're pretty
They fly
Often words are just words
They're witty
They lie
And colors are just granted
Sort of like you and I
Until each pretty petal
just withers and dies
I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)
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