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The poor is not poor
If he has that thing
which makes him rich in eyes of God
 Jan 2017 Miss Havisham
Wanderer
I had the weighted ghost of a palm once pressed
Now a phantom limb tingles
After reading letters you wrote while sick and prone against stark white
Heavy heart yearns to have you linger
Gentle is the softest whisper of your echoing "goodbye"
Tears slip to fall and form
Mirrored pools at my constant running feet
Each salted soldier fighting to remain
Still
"But who do you say that I am?"  ~ Jesus Christ
Luke 9:20

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VeKgfUGtcI0
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