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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Exception

I kept silent to find my voice.
Always the same song,
the same words intervened.
I felt the clicking of sameness.
That, which is my true nature
held prisoner,
in a vault of pure dread,
lifeless joy.
My soul is full of furniture.
I want to sell it all,
make way for the empty room
of pure beginning.

But not you, my love.
I will keep you centered in the room,
the one exception to my longing.
Around you
I will build another house,
another theme.
Around you on whose lips
I put every word,
I will sing new words
and tell these shadows
stand away,
you are my light,
my heart’s only hunger.

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