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We stand at the lip of midnight breath held like a benediction, the old year folding itself into a pocket of memory. Goodness and grief hav...
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Sleep eluded me last night its tender hands withdrew as if afraid to touch the tremor in my soul. The ceiling became a vast confessional, ec...
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At one moment He was born At one moment He our grief’s borne At one moment He cried At one moment He died At one moment He was t...
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