A teardropp hangs to my eyelid like a dewdropp on a leaf blade
My heart is heavy with the pain of bereavement
Those days are dead now, though the pyre keeps burning
Why does the vision of an unknown poet keep haunting me?
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I wish the vote thingy worked because I gave your poem a ten. You portrayed this feeling very well, obviously the poet in you is not dead.
I feel very much like you at this space in time.