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Quiet Idealist
Poems
Apr 2013
Untitled
A house is not a home
Until the storms it’s meant to keep out
Start within.
Brick and mortar, all erodes.
In every home, some broken memories,
Wedding rings and distant lovers.
Yellowed walls and hearts to match-
In every home, an illness.
We’re the disease.
Words unspoken hurt the most.
In every home, a heartache-
An ever-downward spiral.
Written by
Quiet Idealist
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