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I’m writing again This time, using some other Poor writer’s hand. This hand I talk of – - Well, let’s not bother with that But the things I write of Are not the usual stuff. I can’t seem to find the Meaning, says Andy. Where’s the symbolism, Says Christy. And let’s not even get to Ronny, who doesn’t even exist. Such poor talks make for Poor conversations. The only hand that would Bother to write of them Is a lonely one. This hand I talk of Communicates through The dashes of my fingers, And edits through the films Of my eyes. But no longer is it connected To my body. And least of all, my heart. |
o kay. well. uh.. I have nothing to say literaly. except that your poems are getting less and less deep. Such as this one. Or maybe you're trying the new trend of everyone writing like crap. not that you wrote like crap. It's just that you always write things with deep meaning. I'm jst not used to it. oh...and putting my name on here made this poem extra better. That was the only thing I liked. NO hard feelings --Fearless | Posted on 2007-11-12 00:00:00 | by Fearless | [ Reply to This ] | >.< WHAT?! | "And least of all, my heart" I didn't mean there was NO meaning in the poem...I meant the little things thrown in here and there...maybe once or twice in a poem wouldn't have a real deep meaning. Not everything in life is deep. I like your simplistic additions. "Ronny" Hilarious... You are a great writer, it's not your hands. Your hands are mearly tools of your brain and heart. Those poems and those writings of long ago were yours then just as now...the same amazing writer. I love you...keep writing. ANdy | Posted on 2007-11-01 00:00:00 | by Olah89 | [ Reply to This ] | |