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The poet's curse. We feel your pain.
We'd rather not but we have no choice.
We need to put it on the page like a
tiny red corpse we never forget. Weep and
pray and deny a god. Death lives inside you.
You threw bitter cold
Words
At my trembling heart
My mind was too frozen
To reply
Just saw two people walking outside in the cold.  This poem came to mind. This is not related to anything I have experienced.
My ideas only come from what I have seen read or heard.
When the Son comes out
Bitter cold will go away
And a rose will bloom
I will be caught
  in the end
  and chastised
  if I write
  to be recognised
  for in that guise
  a victim I will fall
  to silly pride

a  simple stringer
of words and thoughts
through the tumble
of life
a scribbler
a dabbler
a story-teller
on the insignificant side

let the real bards sing
I'll listen in deference
in humility abide

for a small voice
am I
that truth
I shouldn't deny
Niceties doesn't work in life.

To reach your goal, you have to muscle your way through life.
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