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Distant memories drowned by the ocean’s roar
Passionate filled air with salty scents of dreams
Tickling the brain causing a motion of memory
To jog out into the foam of the brain’s desire.

Where can the poet find their imagination
When the world is full of undeniable inspiration
Of joyous times, of saddening times that come
Of times that make the world a poet’s playground.

Poets do not look away from their own feelings
After all if a Poet does not put their feelings in
Then the words they produce provide futile meaning
To what they wish to say that they normally cannot.

Distant memories may come and go but words
The Poet writes for themselves, for others
For the whole world to understand how the
World holds emotions similar to each other.

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