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How do I explain my inability to express the feelings of bards?

My heart wells and wails

with futile anguish

My soul screams

my hands and head refuse to cooperate

Tis late

much past the witching hour

when only the lost and tortured are awake

I dream living dreams and escape to lost love

I find serenity in my Montana mountains

I allow myself to talk to God and wonder about his creation

I wander the empty halls of my past

until gentle, sometimes troubled sleep takes me to another day

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