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Created on: August 17, 2010
They yell loud enough to wake the dead
Interrupting what little sleep I get
These characters in my head
They want their story told
I type or grab a pen
I write to my fingers hurt
My eyes seem to close
And I dream their story instead
Writing isn’t so easy
Their stories tell of pain
And it all seems a waste
To tell their suffering and not of their joy
Then they curve
They explain the joy that they felt
The happiness in their end
The past was a stepping stone
I know their joy and pain
I write to tell their story
And I write for
My own peace of mind
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