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LASTS THE POETRY

When love is gone, leaving us heartless.
  Be sad verses, but the poem continues.
   Past experiences emerge to the paper,
 longing extremely for happy moments.
 You’ve been dumb, if you wanted a lot,
and have no words to explain your agony.
You speak quietly, your scream in his face,
 but written paper will be filled with life.
  Because you’re human, a human poet.
Because you feel and suffer, but also write.
   Your poem is a tree with fallen leaves
and your verses explain what your life says.
You stay not only looking at what is read,
    the last poem, you’re almost done,
 because there are words to new poems,
    that never let you forget to silence.
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