What shall I write of?
It seems the books
are bursting at the bindings
with poems of love
or nature's glories:
of rain, leaving tear stains
on Mother Nature's weathered cheeks.
Surely this should not add to the masses.
What is my purpose?
Shall I write with hopes
to change a life, a nation?
or to simply scrawl my thoughts down,
leaving this, my fragile poem
unfinished and...
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