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To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. -The Worthily Beloved William Shakespeare

Saturday, April 3, 2010

The Forbidden Love

Obscured by the coat that holds it wedged within
is the temptation that provokes my gleefull grin.
I satisfy it every day, succumbing to my love forbidden,
which tantalizes all my thoughts, and my thoughts I must keep hidden.

Sweet laughter does my favorite indulgence incite,
As it cradles me, dissolving inside me my fight.
Welcoming my love to suppress my disputes,
my exasperated mentality now renews.

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