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Does this poet
put down his pen?
Dark sadness grips tight,
tearing his skin.

Ripping his heart out,
buries his soul.
Feeling all tortured
and taking it all.

Looking about,
at all of the gloom.
Stirs up the ***,
sweeping his broom.

His mind is a mess,
seeking an answer.
Alone in the parlor,
with no private dancer.

His ink had dried up
and his pages were heavy.
One lasting poem,
come home, nice and steady.
You can not rain
on my black parade.
Your words can't hurt me,
Are you playing a charade?

You are not in my mind
and I am not in yours.
Not understanding,
your word choice is poor.

Respect is but earned,
trust is simply kept,
honesty is but certain,
May you never forget.

We are just pawns
in the game of life.
Playing it solo
or living in strife.

So, I will take your words,
with a small grain of salt.
Taking it in,
it's not all your fault.
I am a sinner, not a saint.

Closed inside.

Open the box ..What a surprise!!
Sometimes I feel
that I am swinging axes in the dark.
Hitting nothing
but air and opportunity.

One day, I will open that door,
turn on that light,
Then say to the world,
"Hello, world, it's nice to see you! "
 Sep 2014 Raw words
imadeitallup
I don't expect you to understand
Why I recoil when
You extend your arms and hands
Why I brace for impact
Within the trajectory of your touch
It is warm,
and I am cold.
It is wind,
and I am stone.
IF YOU STEAL THIS POEM, OR ANY OTHER POEMS OF MINE. I WILL FIND YOU, AND I WILL COME AFTER YOU LEGALLY. I AM SOOO SICK OF SEEING THIS POEM ALL OVER THE INTERNET WITH SOMEONE ELSE'S NAME UNDER IT. I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW YOU CAN LIVE WITH YOURSELVES. STEALING OTHERS WORK AND CLAIMING IT AS YOUR OWN. BUT ALL OF THESE ARE COPYRIGHTED SONGS. SO YOU BETTER HOPE I DON'T CATCH YOU. P.S. THANKS TO ALL OF THE PEOPLE FINDING AND TELLING ME ABOUT THESE FAKES. I APPRECIATE THE LOYALTY. :)
 Sep 2014 Raw words
Kapil Dutta
...

Death is like the full-stop to a beautiful Poem.

It becomes complete.

When you end a Poem, it doesn't cease to exist.
Instead it remains in your memory for as long as you are.

To be remembered.

To be celebrated.

Famous art works wouldn't have been famous in the first place had the artists not completed them.

A poem by a poet wouldn't have been appreciated had the poet not put a final full stop to it.

Beauty is not in the length, But in the end.

Life is a piece of Art.
Be the Art that is remembered for its beauty, not its existence.
...

-KD
My thoughts about Death.
Just Thoughts, Not really a Poem.
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