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None I do know would listen to me speak,
for what I talk of doth havoc in them reek.
Most seem to have a firm set rigid view
or cringe from discussion on a topic new.
Others who would see themselves elite,
deceive themselves with their glass conceit.
While others would with ignorance debate
that which one does not really to them state.
Thus bards like me if in a poet's role I'm framed,
are lonely folk in resounding walls contained.
Who, by their thoughts are forced to raise their pen
that all their words be spoken once again...
and sometimes hurt, the poet cries alone,
when those he loves think sadness is their own.
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