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I hardly think about you
Except when the music plays
And I realize that no one else
In the whole wide world
Knows the lyrics
But us...
Once or twice a day is not that much, after all...
Writing
is not just
the enjoying
it's more
much, much more-
not just the words
the feelings
the sentiments
the haunting rhyming
the dancing
of the rhythm :
all this
is just the mechanism
the acquired art
of words--stringing

the great poets
this they will be saying:
my writing
is really me
in my total being
to the muse surrendering
in the mystery
of creating-
within my heart
and soul
in rapturous stirring
and act of totally
being absorbed
in worshipping.
It's not sadness
a better term is melancholy:
the poets have said this poignantly
in much of their sublime poetry

if I'm silent at any moment
think this simply of me:
something within
is bearing an undefinable story.
You like yourself?
That's really fine
but don't let that
rule your life!
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