Our Words Tend To Reap The Frigid Wind Of Sorrow

Our words tend to reap the frigid wind of sorrow
When we do not make ourselves clear
Anxiety tends to rear its ugly head
Some people often hide themselves in fear
But, we can not lose hope
We need to obtain that fire
Have the drive, ambition and precision
To reach even higher

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

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