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It has been a whole year And I have not seen you behind anything but the bottle We used to hit the town and live life with our feet on the throttle Friends in the village of spiraling ends
I was asked recently to demonstrate one of my talents, & Let these written words be my color palette. Contrary to my style, my actions speak lucidly through silence,
Are the Gods gift to the world. Some famous and some just common folks.   Poets are descents of story-tellers. All poets see a need, to be told.   Some poems are serious.
  Now starting back from when I was a young child, I endure
There is a mess, a clutter, a crowd that she found, A thing that we run from that follows her  around. A climax, a friction, a trick that she believed- A gift that she thought that she had received.
That moment when you feel your life is in shambles. No longer the elasticity left in you  to be the glue. All that's left is to grab a hammer and join the crew. Hack a way at the remains.
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