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Literature Text
his voice echoes in every crevice of my mind
in crested valleys that can only come up
short.
his eyes gleam with childhood trust
despite his years
as he whispers to me his idyllic strings of fantasies
and romanticized unreality.
I let him pontificate his crippled tautologies,
because I don't have the heart to tell him
that love is, by definition,
conditional.
in crested valleys that can only come up
short.
his eyes gleam with childhood trust
despite his years
as he whispers to me his idyllic strings of fantasies
and romanticized unreality.
I let him pontificate his crippled tautologies,
because I don't have the heart to tell him
that love is, by definition,
conditional.
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Comments29
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Definately a well written, beautiful but to the point poem. From Word Smiths, and worth the finding.
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