Whisper

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  • Lost Love

    Whisper

    I used to hear,
    In times of stress,
    Your voice in my
    Ear, loud and true,
    Crystal clear.

    Now, all I hear,
    Is a whisper.

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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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