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Otherwise summed up as: whatever happened to Rimbaud? Or Van Gogh, for that matter?
When a poet takes up arms
their quill is orphaned quick
though the pen is mightier
the sword some bards will pick
however just the cause may be
forsake their weapon true
to lose what makes them free
sad the day when all is through
People leave poetry for varied and personal reasons, as numerous are the sand & stars. But the truth is poetry never leaves us & dwells within us. It is my fervent hope that we never quell the voice in your life or even desire to intentionally do so. Long may poetry live!

Please comment & respond on my homepage, thanks.


◄ Peering through cigarette smoke

I am not your cup of tea! ►


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