“Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry.” ― William Butler Yeats
T'is it, this past, to then, be gone. gone it is, this (morning/mourning) long.
When mourn has come, and then be gone. T'is it too quiet, to come, this morn.
To simmer, this fire, this pain, this past. to leave behind, this (mourn/morn), at last.
I love to collect thoughts. I would love to collect some of yours, if they are mindful and respectable.
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I love to collect thoughts. I would love to collect some of yours, if they are mindful and respectable.