February 8, 2013
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I may not be rich,
or well-known

My words may not make it,
on the front page
we see at home

But the words themselves
are truly
my own

I speak of life,
of loving,
and living

Running away
until the giving tree
starts giving

Of taking a plane
a bus
a train

To far-off worlds
where buried
is my pain

and deserts
and waves kissing the sand

Places to be new
and different
and grand

Where the world is the same
but I see
through new eyes

And the faces of the people
tell eagerly
no lies

So no,
my will alone
won’t take me far

And the money in my pocket
can’t rent me
a car

But I can float away
on the words I write;

Be whoever.
See whatever.
Until I say

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