to some,
all solitude is
loneliness
to others,
every crowd is just
a mob
to many
happiness is
to be envied
still others:
even love is
just a job
in waking,
there is much that
brings us sorrow
in sleeping,
there are things
we dare not speak
in living,
there's the choice
to keep on going
for it's what's inside
that often
makes
us
weak
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Tagged: Tags Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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