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Sep 2019
Some people care when a poet dies,

visible by the moisture running from their eyes.

a poem is a conscience,

a report card,

a confession.

today my words turned the sun to clouds then into rain,

words at times that seem to ease the pain.

how can i taste what iā€™m mourning when sorrows door opens without warning?

when soon everything will be salt from the sea,

and riding the waves of eternity are me.
TheConcretePoet
Written by
TheConcretePoet  Isle of Poet
(Isle of Poet)   
60
   Bogdan Dragos
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