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All English Sonnets


My pain was done and past, and I thought
That I could live in peace and free of care.
But this was not to be. O! certainly not,
for when I forget pain, the pain is there.

Though in pre- occupation of our lives,
We tend to feel that pain is dead and past
But to our consternation, it revives
And stuns us with its silent fiery blast.

When frenzied bursts of passion fancies lull
And under panting breathing , pain conceal
The leaping flames of pleasure make it dull
But just below the surface, we can feel,

That pain is omnipresent an’ it means
It lives in boiling blood, smoldering veins.

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