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I won’t let my despair get strong enough,
I might raffle your bright blossoms; though it’s tough.
And still am scared: for you reside in the lurking thorns,
Pricking me until am ripe; writhing inside this jungle of bittersweet.
Yet you are scared to find bliss in frugal naivety.
Fools enough to seek solace in days gone; we are pools of anxiety.
I Am scared to slip back into forbidden thoughts.
And you are scared petals are falling off fast.
In the depth of your vain soul, you long to hide in a bud again.
But fright only makes petals fall in haste.
Until you are a dry thorny stalk and I the broken vase that leaks; your scared beholder.

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A poem by Tonny Wandella