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Aug 2015
every night since, might it be mine heart
aching , visions of earth shaking
combinations of words,
the banks of my ability
to store my emotions up
behind the flesh and blood dam,
perchance a ghost from some
long dead wanna be poet,
confiding the death secrets,
I wish I could recall all
the depth of what wakes me up,
and scribe it down perfectly,
before it drifts away, as my
eyes clear and the tv
and ordinary life intrude.
wordvango
Written by
wordvango
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