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Inscriptions

A poet, by definition, needs words if I am that ever.
No matter if I'm burning up here or it's freezing out there.

I'm a worrywart, and my work's an extension of what I am.
You'll be amused by my worries as they are happily not yours.

After reading it, tell me whether it's a comedy acted out
by a grimfaced player or a Sophocles tragedy by a clown like me.

When you see no way out from a ring of fire, don't lose heart.

Who knows there won't be water to jump into beyond that?
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Sunday, July 17, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: inscriptions
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