all my words
are gloom
written of your pain
and mine
all I can write
is of this aching
burning singe
which
though less
than your sleepless
night-paced
throbbing
nonetheless
possesses me
becomes
all that I am
here in the dark
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We all have our battles.
All our battles are big.
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Blue, isn’t the pain part of the burning love? It must be, no?
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Profound empathy beautifully set down – nice work poet.
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