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My House on the Hill
Seeing you without seeing me,
Running through the willowy leaves
I only hope you don't see me still,
Waiting
beneath my house on the hill.
I hate wanting you unaware-
That cold gleam and withering stare,
Unrelentingly
unfocused near my direction
Bleakly straight ahead
As though you needed some other kind of inspiration-
than a spectator
Who couldn't offer you any advise
An other kind of warmth -
than me.
I waved once-
on a whim
But thankfully, you didn't see
Beneath my house on the hill
While running
Through the willowy leaves.
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In the darkness, past and present,
Of man's ignorance untold,
Breeds a virus so unpleasant
It releases not its hold
On the elements
by James Lyons
Thoughts of Self creep in. Self-centeredness settles. Unpacks.
Making itself at home, Worry moves down each hall.
Doubt chooses
I thought that I would watch the world,
To see how it's heart was working.
But I got distracted by the news
That people were
"Village"
I walked through your village today and sighed,
Anticipating all of the ancient treasures, I might find.
I walked
"A Sonnet of Wisdom"
Wisdom is a flower known to grow with time.
It is life experience you'll build up through your days.
It's
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Poetry: Observations
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