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I don't know
the stars
as well as I know
speckled dust
on glass

Cause I spend
too much time
sitting on
this window sill

With a screen
between
me
and the world.
Who is this poet?

Is he faithful to his poetry
as good as pretends to be
or his heart is ever on the darkside
nowhere near of what he writes.

Who is this poet?

Is his hat real or fake
he’s weak and easily breaks
he aims only to teach
never follows all that he preach.

Who is this poet?

Is he really that sweet
joyous and good as his wit
does he expose truly his heart
or the real he hides behind his art.

Who is this poet?

Does he have in him
all his painted dream
the lover’s happiness
he does profess.

Who is this poet?

Is at heart he's that pure
what with words he conjures
or all them are just his arty wile
he's merely spinning tales in style.
the lens turned to self.
She looked more alive
dangling from the edge
than she ever had resting
in the lap of luxury.
Were we ever meant to live the ordinary life?
There's a sea inside my heart
Tidal waves keep my eyes wet
That's only because of the moon
Even when invisible she pulls at me
So hard
I'm overflowing both grief and joy
 Feb 2015 walterrean salley
Mr X
Thank you for being there.
You make this place a lot more beautiful.
 Feb 2015 walterrean salley
Mr X
It so difficult to part from those
Who've given you so much...
But, at times, its the best thing
You can give them.
Its a law of life...separation.
And when we go our separate ways,
I hope you'll be able to console
Yourself by this law, this philosophy.
Just like I've been doing for years
With a stone on my heart.
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