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 Jun 2016
Abbey White
I've been gathering knowledge and longing to know whether most others brains have affected them so
Do you gather such speed in your inner review, of yourself and of others you see and speak to?
That one question comes and it leads to the next, and the next, and the next,
Till you couldn't explain in ten miles of small text.
Till you're ready for bed, though you've not moved at all, and search for distraction when sleep doesn't fall.
For still that old train rattles full steam ahead, though it slows down at times, it won't stop till you're dead.
I tell you dear reader, from what I have seen, the most beautiful souls have dark places they've been.
The makers of art and the singers of songs, creative folk found that before very long,
Something was amiss, masked by a smile, on mouths that spoke kindness and joked once a while,
But storms always yield the most radiant skies, and those who feel low reach the highest of highs.
A turbulent mind has excessive ideas. Beauty from turmoil, and art from our fears.

— The End —