In The Quiet It Whispers…

… that there is no special invitation to greatness. Just an unspoken understanding of what must be done.

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Poem for a Poet

I used to think you were so expressive, so abstract, so prosaic. I could hardly meet your gaze on those few opportunities when we did speak. All those things made me admire you. Now I hold my own and realize that you’re all those things but you’re also a flawed, beautiful, work in progress like […]

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