This is my heart A piece of clay you can shape Into an endlees hole of pain Or an open field of bliss Either way it's yours I give it to you Because I have nothing else Nothing but a piece of wet dust Left to harden in the sun So use it Before it's too late
Reason for writing:
Something positive
Which is in sharp contrast to my usual stuff
Birth sign: Not entered
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View more poems by Michael Lloyd, Still a Cappy.