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All English Sonnets

THE SOURCE

The anguished unrest of my restless soul,
Has given me what you are calling great,
But every over-stated hyperbole
Is not enough to tell or indicate

The under nourished agony of mind,
(Which feeds on bloody tears), I have starved.
So every word I say is spiked and barbed,
With leavings of the moments hurt and blind.

The under stated promptings of the heart,
Are manufactured by suppressed tears,
My hesitations and my cowering fears,
I carry on creating genuine art.

But only till my unflowing tears wait,
This I can without hesitation state.

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