The Voice

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Spaces have been empty and days just blank
This bubbling brook had failed those who once drank
My voice sank under-bed like a wet plank
I watched hours as they helplessly shrank
Unladen with ink they were blandly dank
Like a faulty freight at the river bank
I sat unused till my forlorn heart sank
I just sat there scrapping my rusty tank

My voice faded but the songs never stopped
It hummed in my head sweet and sour beats
These many days it was a load I bore
A load of lyrics to paint you the world
Its beauty its pain its love and its hate
And to be a voice as in days of yore

As I rid me of literary mildew
To kiss the fresh fragrance of poetic air
Do know that you out there are my passion
The thoughts of you make every word brand new
And since you are there I know I can dare
All I ask is for a heart to write on

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