Monday, January 02, 2012


By: James Dubeau

Slowly the book fills
Black on white
Between the blue
Page after page
Once fresh pages
Turn dog-eared and old
In this once forgotten
Twice remembered
Random thoughts
In poetic verse
Filter through
Onto the pages
When the mood strikes
Or at times
To fill the void
Sometimes I wonder
What is the point
Of exposing my soul
In this craft
Which no one cares
When I share
What should be private
Away from this
My little

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