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Oct 2018
It used to flow out of me
Pouring
What seemed to be a never ending abundance of words
Each one a window to my fears hopes and dreams
My pen would fly through the pages with ease
Unfolding all that I carried
Deep inside my soul
An outlet for the things that were oh so painful
But my pen
Has seemed to run out of ink
Suddenly so hard to clearly think
I write
I write
And I write again
I don't even know how to give this poem
An end
Virtuous
Written by
Virtuous
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