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Monday, 9 May 2011
To thee I tell of love and jeer,
to give, a colour, it must be white.
Colourless and innocent predicts the seer,
but with honey comes its spite.
To thee I tell of disdain and betrayal,
and, cutting deep within the heart of day,
struck swiftly, clinically as moray.
With such dislike brought hammer to the nail.
"Look at your dream; there is all you covet,
All that you cherish, together as one,
Each imperfection driving you closer,
Not for you, not now, not ever."
Monday, May 09, 2011
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30 May 2011 at 17:18
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