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Megan Parson Sep 2018
I once robbed a post-box,
      & looked through letters, small & scented.
Of someone's aunt with chickenpox,
And bills handsome, from the rented.

Love letters, I had to read!
Which in boredom, my mind would feed.
Some which made my heart bleed,
An urge to send, a nervous need.

A good doctor's prescription pill,
& injections, with dread did me fill.
Thankfully illegible, so not my joy to ****.

But now, I must stop,
For reasons purely confidential.
As I catch the Postmans' beaming top,
His light bag filled only with what's essential!
A poem on a crazy idea....
Ham Aloufi Dec 2014
Don’t you cry you fragile heart for that love was an infection
There is no cure and you won’t be healed by injections
So many minds were lost in love coming from one direction
In the end you are going to forget it and it won’t be ever mentioned
So don’t write a poem about it and give it its own section
Don’t be sorry and prove it with actions
Love is a gift given to a few people without exception
When some people leave there is no sorrow nor tension
When some people leave there will always be a connection
So keep on living and keep on loving for it is the sweetest reaction

— The End —