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January 14, 2011
I am not a writer
because I pick up a pen
and spew out pretty pose.
I am a writer
solely because
I can tell someone who has never seen a sunset,
How the colors radiate off your flesh
and tousle your hair
lift you so high up
you almost feel like soaring.

I can tell someone who has never heard thunder,
How it pulses with the beating
of the peace drum from the enemy.

I can tell someone who has never felt the rain,
How the storm sends millions of
men out to battle
to clash with our flesh
how they leave stings as they die
in combat
and slither away
six feet below us.

I can show you wonders,
have you feeling euphoria,
I can tell you this,
with a magic wand:

my pen.

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