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 About This Author 
My name is Joy, and I love to write. 
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
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	 Green Peas at Stake  #577952 added April 6, 2008 at 7:25pm Restrictions: None	 
	Hmmmm… (Dew Drop 6) April 6 
	Hmmmm… 
 
What was it like  
when I saw the first light… 
the first light coming in from  
the afternoon sun on faces,  
smiles, tears, beds, chairs, sky, 
cats, cigarettes, puddles,  
my own hands and toes, 
a crack on  the wall, 
an ant hanging on to the curtain 
that boogied with the wind? 
 
Then, when the hush of the evening  
dropped in, did I think  
the darkness blew away  
the sights and the sounds?  
Was it then when I fell in love  
with words and fiction  
people uttered, ignoring  
what I could hear? 
 
After all the years, after 
my majestic performance 
when I take a bow and 
the real darkness tumbles down,  
will it be the words  
I’ll miss the most, 
all because I was never  
too fond of reason? 
 
 
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