Poetry is the art form that lies inside the soul
Not seen by every eye
Or ear
Or heart
...
In the Republic of Art
Each child has a special talent
Some have the gift
To weld molds in any shape or size
...
It is truly a wonderous thing
To be a poet
To be able to bend words
In ways which thy heart yearns
...
I know it deep in my heart
A feeling I don't fully understand
I've come to realize
That I will die by my lover's hand
...
Let's watch the flowers grow
Pretend this is a nightmare
Pretend that we are happy
Pretend that we're not sad
...
When clouds refuse to part their way
Refusing me your light of day
I can't help
But feel you now
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Burning crushes from inside
I yearn to destroy
But these rageful actions
I cannot employ.
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In the oceans of my sadness
I cannot see what's become of me
I don't know what's become of me
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Happy, so happy am I!
The grey is now blue sky
My best friend returns
From her faraway journs'
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