Hon, don't cry.

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  • Confusion

    Hon, don't cry.

    Smiling, I weep

    For the days I wish I could keep inside,

    The inside of my brain to remember for eternity

    Though if I try to find my way

    I will be lost in the end

    It’s so cold, so dark and cold.

    A candle could never light

    Its way through the long hallways

    In the dark plain of my mind

    Please away from me, fly away

    To peace beyond the everlasting night

    Though I could never say

    How I long for you to stay

    But please tell how much

    I might have to pay,

    For you to give me a backward glance

    And to look within my mind

    Though I could never ask you to do such a thing

    For it would take years and years forevermore

    To find me within the wires

    Crossed and plugged in wrong

    Maybe I could be good for something

    Though my only option is gone.

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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