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poem's Articles


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Idle

The clock is ticking. The lights are flickering. Come what may, I’m still staring, Into the vast vagueness, Engulfing the mind, With a steady gaze, At the mountain of work. Come what may, I’m still sitting, Lost in a dark abyss, Without

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Staging on the stage

Everybody is born, but once But a hundred different people one can be, For on different stages to different people, I'm someone who isn't me.   When the curtains rise, and the lights turn on, I'm part of a show Putting myself

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To be me, or not to be me

  Is it deceiving if I'm actually feeling? Is it lying if it's real in my head? Am I not me with a mask on my face? Is it not sorrow if my tears are the ones I choose to shed?   Solace can be found in different places, For me

Image is here

Idle

The clock is ticking. The lights are flickering. Come what may, I’m still staring, Into the vast vagueness, Engulfing the mind, With a steady gaze, At the mountain of work. Come what may, I’m still sitting, Lost in a dark abyss, Without

Image is here

Staging on the stage

Everybody is born, but once But a hundred different people one can be, For on different stages to different people, I'm someone who isn't me.   When the curtains rise, and the lights turn on, I'm part of a show Putting myself

Image is here

To be me, or not to be me

  Is it deceiving if I'm actually feeling? Is it lying if it's real in my head? Am I not me with a mask on my face? Is it not sorrow if my tears are the ones I choose to shed?   Solace can be found in different places, For me