The thoughts I put on paper are very seldom true.
They are but dim reflections of a brighter point of view.
Dingy old expressions, told hundred times before.
Rearranged as poetry in hopes that they’d mean more.
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What good are words that cannot stir?
And do not move the heart.
What good are words that do not speak?
And leave you feeling dark.
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Words should make you happy.
They should tell you something new.
But I find this hard to manage,
When words are seldom true.
