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Created on: April 06, 2009
Monsoon #3
Once not so long ago I was whole and confidant-
I was close enough to knowing who I am that I at least knew what I did not want,
If I could not figure out what I did.
Now I sit here and write by candlelight as the monsoon rains fall
-Gently this time-
Completely lacking in force or passion.
Yet, unlike me, oblivious to the fact that they are not what we expect them to be.
I am fully aware that I have not been what I am.
Learn more about this author, Emily Branwell.
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Poetry: Don't pity me
by Jane Allyson
I drew the flash of temper,
I am the one to blame.
I made the heart grow heavy,
I caused the eyes to flame.
I was weak and
Don't pity me because my hair is gray:
years took its toll, causing my back to sway,
roads were rocky and hills hard to climb,
nights
Don't pity me
the woman whispered
even though I die alone,
for I have lived a full life,
never stooping to pick up
after
Don't pity me all you people,
the very ones who shot me down;
making sure when I was happy,
somehow you caused a frown.
Don't
I am an old man, whithered and bent
My youth and vigor are all spent
You may think it's sad, don't
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