Paper, like life
Is but a space
Waiting to be filled;
Opening and welcoming,
As one is for an embrace.
Overwhelmed, we find no words
Nor acts to fill,
For fear that we should be wrong,
Or perhaps not right.
However, it is not the beauty of a word
But its truth,
And while beauty may be held
In the eyes of the beholder,
Truth may be held
In the acts of one's life.
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