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Rated: E · Poetry · Spiritual · #2015998
Something I came up with cause people kept on telling me I always had a gift to write.
Through the valley of broken flowers
There lies a creature that dares to appear
In the thicket of madness towards the bend
The creature does not want to take on the cheer

In barrens of waste and mildew
The creature is not at home
He does not pout nor shed a tear
And you can never get him on the phone

Here within the caves of solitude
Does the creature reads his poems silently
He looks back on what he had done
And realize that he had done things blindly

With effort he lifts up a pencil
And a tight wad of paper
So he jots down what he knows
And little does he know he’s the caper

Caper of mysteries and adventures
He tells his tales with musical tunes
And when the moon comes out
He thinks that it might be noon

For his true feelings come out
When he strums to a different beat
Little do we know what he is really about
So we let him in on cold frosted feet

What will he decide to do next
No one might ever know
For truly he is one of our own
So he truly believes he might grow
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