Poetry (and let no man tell you different) is what separates us from the beasts. It is the gateway to our soul, and the evidence of our immortality. It is but a remnant of that heavenly spark bestowed upon us in the garden. It exists equally in the most base, and holiest among us. It is everyman, and the best proof of Gods existence.

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Winter

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November SnowNovember snow is never quite sureWhether or not it should melt or stay.Like an unwelcome guest showing up at the doorIt suspects you prefer that it go away!

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