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i am a portion of a poet
and i would like to share my writings with the whole world
I hear a sound of weeping with the wind...
Bleeding wounds and scars...
Across the sacred heath I step and walk...
A nature's Court
With an abundance of flowers...
At a desk I sought my aim blest and curst...
Silence is oft,
A higher communication.
A love for a rose, can be lost in its thorns.
Around the tree of ambition,
Grow the weeds of greed.
© Ziad Dib Jreige