The labour of quiet inner thought,
there is no payment!
But the idea of self manoeuvring,
or to encounter somewhere,
where all seems lost,
But is it, only if one
tells oneself, this
has happened or must be...
It's not there...
Unless the light deceives,
At that, suspended feeling,
Then fade to the right
of a complete strangers eyes,
hesitant, don't know you...
No I don't even know what I know?
Even after years of rehearsals,
Words that we hear and fear
after years and years,
Of self implication!
Did I actually find out,
what I really wanted to find out?
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Comments about this poem (Found by GRANT FRASER )
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If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
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