Ours is a world where poeple don't know what they want and are willing to go through hell to find it. - Don Marquis

What Fault?...

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And what fault, mine that my thoughts form poetry and this, from childhood onward? that they've served as a shield, a comforting cloak warm, against cruelty's cold And although when young, I've tasted of love's heady bliss, knew adventure's sweet thrill... Now, I've but black and white starkness these words on paper... still, sometimes I think they are almost enough.

© azure warrior

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