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Appreciate the Tears He Cries

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What good is a day
when the radiant
lemon ball is
buried far behind
the ferocious woolpack
playing their drums
streaming their tears
down on
mankind
casting them back
into their boxes

This is what they always say
But it makes no sense
Because this is my kind of day

Take your chance
grab a hand
escape the desert
rush into the river
be a plane
stretch your wings
let everything go
cry, laugh, and
dance
these are
the moments
you are the bird
soar high
and you
will feel absolutely free
I AM FREE



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distant_dreamer said...
Jul. 31, 2009 at 8:28 pm
Wow!!! Great poem!!!!
 
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