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Turning the pages of the book I’ve been reading, I feel like I’m gazing through, The lines so carefully thought yet callously written, It makes me look like a fool. If I could do, half the things it said; if I had bought some wine instead. But now I’m Wise and I walk sober. Halfway through the book, the pages weren't ready to move. Its been three weeks and I’m stuck on that page, anxious and a bit confused. No I haven’t forgotten how to read and write, No I haven’t lost the gift of sight. It kept asking me,” Did you get what I sent?" "The Message", the message I was to comprehend. All over again, I would close my book, and once again, I’d be off the hook. The hook that fished me out of the dark, which caused no pain and left no scar. I'm a little nervous now; it’s not just me who knows me now. Anyone who would reach this page, will have to sit and think again.
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May 20, 2008
10:25 PM
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