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Grounds for Remorse
by Duane Ackerson
Sometimes you sit and think
and drink coffee
and try to write
and nothing is there--
the coffee tastes
of wasted words,
the writing, something better left
at the bottom of the cup.
So, once more,
you try to think,
wondering if any words are
worth the effort,
if anything you--
or I--
can say
will reach any other eyes or ears
and, from there,
any heart--
what a steeplechase it is,
littered with fences and falls
and broken legs of pencils--
can any words stand up to this?
And, if so,
what profit in finding words
that can only break our hearts?
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