The truest endeavor of a poet Is to analyze the human condition - Oh, poets, if you but knew what condition My condition was in. Scribbling scribes, Bleeding from fingertips – Knowing from where the blood comes, But never knowing where it goes. Who claims the pages that Drift now lonely in the... Sign in to see full entry.
Explorations of Everything:
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Written mutterings of an explorative mind.
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