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It Makes Me Cry

The music in my soul
That accompanies my poems
Forever silent beyond the cage surrounding me
My physical form is a prisn of silent bars
That shutter the keys on my piano
and nothing I do will let the song of me sing out
The sadness is unbearable sometimes
It makes me cry that they sing to no one
and when I am forgotten
my poetry will tell nothing of who I was
My books standing quietly on a bookshelf
Unopened to the eyes of lovers of verse
I am nothing, a shadow of a man
I am a dream for ghosts to echo in laughter
It crushes my hopeful heart that I wil be gone
and everything I did will turn to dust
Forcing my spirit to ask what it was all for
So much love wishing to have been felt
So many dreams evaporating into nightmares
I sometimes wish I had never lived to feel this way
If only I never knew such pain and loneliness
To everyone else it would not even be a ripple
Off the tips of a butterflie's wings
Sometimes
It makes me cry
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