“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
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What can be said about War and Peace that has not been proposed outside of either wedlock- Or must we choose sides, such as above or below...
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Natures touch is both gentle and fierce. Homo sapiens trample on her back. The thick skin impossible to pierce. So...
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A year ago this May, in fact, upon this same very grey day- something came over me I found could say, in no other way but to portray, ...
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Sun lifting the veil of purple sky- might bronze forge strength pungent as the turned dirt? Thirsting through exposition, hi...

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