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Been slow to write as of late, unmotivated... uninspired. Decided to sit tonight, and try to weave out some words.

I no sooner wrote and sent this first poem, when this blinding light hit from the bedroom, and rolled down the stair. I think I got my sign, so I wrote a second. 🖊📝 "Your voice, held still from inside-out it cries... misplaced but carries no sound. You need a sign, to recognize that thirst... that made you a poet. You wonder, if you'll know it." __________________________ "Just then, without warning that sign... slants over your soul you enter in, through open pane. Causing you to believe there's reason... to write, again." 

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