"Poetry is food for the soul!"
Fluke
A Quiet Storm
The truthful lie to themselves;
The haters love the hurt;
The killers sleep in peace;
The lovers break hearts!
Musicians spread soul;
The dead have no soul!
The depressed are dead!
The depressed reside in music!
Soul searching.
End up hurting.
Crying.
Dying!
© REBEKAH SMITH November 2002.
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