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Post by Shem » April 28th, 2010, 7:11 pm

Should I be concerned that all
My thoughts are suicide notes tonight?
Should I be worried I’m on my own?
Is it wrong that her name is still so sweet
on my lips, or that I can swear her scent still clings
to me though the showers have been many and
Why can’t she see how much I love her
Why can’t she see how much I need her
Why can’t she see how much I desire her
Why can’t she understand how much this hurts?
Should I at least be happy she’s upstairs
And not in another’s arms?
At least there’s that
At least there’s that
Leave the letter that never begins to go find the latter that ever comes to end, written in smoke and blurred by mist and signed of solitude, sealed of night.
-James Joyce

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Post by Barry » April 28th, 2010, 7:36 pm

Felt it. Reminds me of a piece in a similar vein which I wrote long ago, only the first and last lines I remember...
Putting on my jacket, I get a reminder of you.
You've worn it so much more than I it carries your scent.

But my heart is not a stone
Nor is it a thing for loving
It is again just a pump.
Excellent poem, dude. Keep on with it.


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