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it’s not that the eyes can’t see at times it’s just the brain that can’t read – the pain, dip as cells in our body; smeared on smiles it’s just that our brains can’t read beautiful things have scars too that you are yet to see them don't mean they have not beautiful people feel pain too – it’s just so well-hidden that eyes always hit a blindspot and after it’s happened to another Dante we all gather to cry, mourn on crumbled mountains But of what good is cry to a soul that aches no more? of what use is remorse to a heart that beats no more?
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Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 10:11 PM UTC
Of What Use Is Cry! (Definitely Not a Requiem)
it’s not that the eyes can’t see at times it’s just the brain that can’t read – the pain, dip as cells in our body; smeared on smiles it’s just that our brains can’t read beautiful things have scars too that you are yet to see them don't mean they have not beautiful people feel pain too – it’s just so well-hidden that eyes always hit a blindspot and after it’s happened to another Dante we all gather to cry, mourn on crumbled mountains But of what good is cry to a soul that aches no more? of what use is remorse to a heart that beats no more?
This poem talks about the inability of man to understand danger before it hits them
Emmiaskyojex
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Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 10:11 PM UTC
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