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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

Mixed feelings


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For you I know my heart does seek,

Your words still make my body weak.

When you're around, I can't seem to think

Brown eyes search my soul; watch me sink.

 

Fate loves to sit with a self-satisfied smirk-

I am his warped little piece of handiwork.

 

I am falling into a gaping abyss-

Your outstretched hand I somehow missed.

But people caught me, falling from you.

You took all the color, but greys are pretty too.

 

Fate loves to sit with a self-satisfied smirk-

I am his warped little piece of handiwork.

 

I will learn to be happy without your touch

But do not think I won't miss you a bunch.

I cannot sit around waiting for you,

Even though I know you love me too.

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Y'all cited my favorite line - but then, grey is my favorite 'color' (I've been told grey isn't a color, but rather a shade or hue or some such nonsense (don't you just love parens? (I do,))) and has been for a while.

 

You have a nice sense of 'flow' in your works, and a curiously haunting touch. Some of your lines rise up when I'm done, at odd moments and I have to pause to remember where I read them.

 

I like the way your poetry affirms your worth. A pleasant thing to read in one whose poems are so worthy.

 

-Peredhil

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Guest Lord Seth Exodus

Indeed a fine piece of work, Rahsash. I really like the way you keep coming back to:

 

"Fate loves to sit with a self-satisfied smirk-

 

I am his warped little piece of handiwork."

 

 

 

(The proper poetic term for this escapes me) It paints a vivid picture of the trials, and tribulations of life, and more specifically, love. Bravo! Very nice, indeed. I hope you post more soon.

 

 

 

-Seth Exodus

 

Initiate of The Pen

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