Tuesday, July 2, 2013
The Jump Comments
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He fears what he does not know, a wise voice said
Fists of white knuckles, holding tight, dreading
For all under his wrath, there would be no ending
This dejected soul, this petulant soul, was already dead.
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7/27/2025 9:31:46 AM # 1.0.0
Life is a flower going on the straight road, thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment.