how does one,pray tell,confess
the inner confines of the soul?
the forms are hardly ever defined
and expression is all but sufficient
oh that you could understand, feel
the unbearable inferno at this core
that articulation could linger
in the nooks afforded by innovation
that expression could be inspired
beyond the guise of convention
that love and fear, joy and doubt be fulfilled
in the crevices of connotation
all that would remain would be a solitary fading ember
if the fires of this hell were cooled by a long-yearned for utterance
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