poems
poems
I deceive people with words all day. I lie. Who am I? - A writer.
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poems
#20 in an year of mornings
poems
#19 in an year of mornings
poems
#18 in an year of mornings
poems
#17 in an year of mornings
poems
#16 in an year of mornings
poems
#5 in an year of mornings
poems
#4 in an year of mornings
poems
#3 in an year of mornings
poems
#2 in an year of mornings
poems
#1 in an year of mornings
poems
Birth, death and everything in between
Birth, and death, Death, and birth, Are either two ends of a line, Or, two points in a never-ending circle. Now way to know, to be sure. After all none have come back, From the great end. What lies in between, Is the great green expanse. Life. The one thing,