Like A Wasteland - Poem by Stan Petrovich
Nature is the cruelest thing,
Bringing dead flowers to a cemetary,
And sneezing as a ghost passes through.
I spent the night reading Keats
And have no one to share him with.
Loneliness is the hardest thing to stive for;
When I get there I cry with happiness
And careen with fear.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You