untitled

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  • Gothic

    untitled

    the pain rips through the lives of so many
    yet few stop to really think about it
    when we choose not to see whats there
    we refuse to acknowledge the truth
    and with that we have lost more than we will ever know

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    tree’s Poems (5)

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