April 16, 2012
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I write of forgotten memories
Of things been said and done
Of life’s many ups and downs
Of people having fun

I read of magical adventures
Taking place in untold lands
Telling of un-treaded paths
Traveled by many a man

I dream of worlds of perfection
No war, no drugs, no sorrow
Where people would live in each day
Not worrying about the morrow

I speak of emotions
Happy, sad, upset
And of things I want to happen
That haven’t happened yet

I live of myself
Of my every single move
Because everything makes me, me
And I have nothing to prove

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