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I am naught but a windblown thought And nobody can see the wind Only the mark it leaves on the world
Dear Me From Last Year,   hi. yes, it's you. this seems strange. i am aware. but do not be afraid; i bring good news. you see,  you have things that are waiting on you;
Do you or I find literature difficult to read, or write, extract a verse or two? A poem by meter, to cause a stumble upon style. Where o’ where doth the rhythm peak. An anapest followed by dactyl treat.
What if the mansion which I abide mirrors me by more than just it's contents?  
Roots that dig deep; as far as the eyes can't see Kind as the wind, old as a tree Love that builds life A Trifiling adventure  Family builds and breaks all, wary as you enter
Past     closed up pizza jointsPast laundromats, through the dying noisethe nights tick on like clockworkwatch the calendar as my steps unwind
I don't know much about poetry. When I was in the first grade, I thought it was about rhyme That was the only thing I knew about it at the time And that's all that poetry meant to me.  
Life is unfair The adults all preach it But it takes so long for you to believe it You ride the waves Until the board breaks
After all the people leave— The raucous laughter has died down, goodbyes have been said, The lights have all gone out, and people have left for some other party— What happens to a building?  
temper me like steel burn me with your fire all the trials all the fears melt me as if wax reshape me as if glass build me from the start mold me as if clay chisel as if rock tear me down
The south wind blows and I will miss you Who will you miss, though? Have you anybody to know, grow, set seeds and sow? We fall, fall, fall to the blue, into the blue And then...
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