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 3:22 am    08/15/20

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Sometimes I feel like writing; I don't claim that what I write is good, but I like reading what I have written.
oct-28
Tue Oct 28 03:30:07 EST 2003

if feelings are felt, they must be confessed
  in shadows of ink on paper pen-pressed
while life is still lived and feelings are felt
  those feelings unwritten burn sorrows of hell
letters of fire in words of rain,
  essays of horrors and volumes of pain
better projected, to paper revealed
  than suffering scars of feelings field
when feelings rest, their embers ashes,
  will writing slow to less frequent flashes
returning to their silent home
  shrunken, bent, in fleshly tomes
will age so die, will cries grow quiet?
  in awesome absence and giant silence?
for though the earth would be my bed
   and tremors quiet, light as lead
 a life diffused, refracted, bent
    cannot so suffer silent death