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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

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Day by day time flies

Anguish, in his heart lies

Doubt-filled, mistakes abound

A vicious cycle, round and round

 

Careless words arise

Upsets once more comprise

A guillotine on his neck

Dropped with a whack

 

His heart tightly bound

Pain-filled, shamefully pound

Tightness in the chest

Regrets deep in the breast

 

A sigh, a frown

An unending down

Self-pity, self-loathing

Surrounds his mind in coating

 

Peering into the deep

of his darkly unlit keep

Morosely in contemplate

the lessons on his plate

 

He sits, he berate

His failures, his dull innate

The imperfections, the blemish

The rough-edges, lack of varnish

 

He mourns the pain

brought upon his main

He mourns his ineptitude

should on happiness intrude

 

That for all his acts

Undone by the lack of tact

That for all his love

Still, he brings down his dove

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