Monday, September 14, 2009

Paper friendly

Every ink trail,
Every poem, takes a bow,
Every breath untouched,
Your voice, soothes the silence,
Heartache, rolls over my shoulder,
Now,
I'm in the middle,
I can hear, violins,
And a rustic guitar,
Just writing my,
Poem, during the night,
My thoughts are unheard,
So this paper listens.

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