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Nov 2022
A poet’s tears run down the internal wall
..until..
they all spill out in a puddle on the floor.

An ugly, unsightly mess
..until..
someone comes along to gently mop it away.

But a leak, however silent, is still a leak
..until..
it is a flood that can no longer be controlled.

A poet’s tears run down the internal wall
..until..
the wall cracks under pressure and we all drown in the words.
Written by
S G
  416
     Thomas P Owens Sr, Ledge, deyrah, Zoe Mae, N and 1 other
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