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we are all open books written in an old language
waiting for someone to come and translate
our story
our words.
be patient
the translator is coming.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

i was always an open book
just written in a dead language.
all the translators were wrong,
time and time again
until you came along.
i liked this theme so i wrote two
I've become so convincing in the role of myself,
I'm starting to believe it's actually me.
From strangers
To lovers,
To Stranger's.
I WISH I COULD WRITE A POEM, SO PROFOUND SO CLEVER,

THAT KNOWING SAGES, WOULD QUOTE IT FOR AGES,

AND MY NAME WOULD LIVE ON FOREVER.
"OOPS" I WASN'T SUPPOSE TO TELL YOU. NOW IT WILL NEVER COME TRUE
You wanted transparency in love.
So, I wore my heart
outside my chest.
 Mar 2021 Walter W Hoelbling
Sav
In a world of dreamers,
are you awake or asleep?

In a realm of promises,
which do you keep?

In a land of tomorrows,
when does he beseech?

Within thoughts of conclusion,
does she retreat?

In the be all end all,
why does she screech.

I think we're all dead now,
we weep
we
weep.
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