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Post by moseley on Nov 15, 2011 19:34:08 GMT -6
At the door I drop the last imaginary pearl of my past...our past.. I let it fall from my hand and it hits the floor like a gentle rain can wash away a mountain I hear them all ping and dance to their inevitable rest and laugh at the scattered remnant and with an empty hand and an open heart I open that door and begin again..
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Post by anirbas on Nov 16, 2011 23:39:44 GMT -6
melancholic, romantic, eloquence... you rarely write shorter pieces, Jam... perhaps, you should explore this form, further... (though I am not implying your longer poems are shite...lol)
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