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To be creative.
I go deep within myself.
Then can't get back out.
Stars spell out your name.
As the moon looks on with pride.
Comets frame the sky.
Under the spotlight.
You sing and dance for the crowd.
Hangers-on nearby.
The ovens baking,
a fresh loaf of mama's bread.
I sit on the floor.
Drumming on a *** and pan.
Mama looks at me with love.
Trusting in someone.
A swinging suspension bridge;
my balance fails me.
All an illusion.
This life holds no place for me.
But I still can dream.
Lynn Stillman Aug 16
Love can turn to hate.
When respect's a casualty.
In a war of words.
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