A Note to Myself a Week Before Finals

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That each person has a silent ode
For when then the road is gone
To strengthen trembling knees against a heavy load
Like solitude-like rain-on a tin roof
Frighteningly aloof, yet cleansing and unknown
To lose oneself so far from home
Maybe deceived by never alone
Value perceived of quiet flight birds
Inside remains those unspoken words
Of cloudy nothingness but still strong
A love of oneself that can never be wrong





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