The problem – part 1 of “Every answer has a problem”

Sometimes my heart just weeps a while
and deep inside me there’s a smile
that just can’t find a gasp of air;
all weighed down with so much care.
I feel it struggling in my chest.
I know it’s there; it does its best.
But things I’ve heard throughout the day,
on my spirit sometimes prey.
For tales of woe will always mar
reality; that’s what they are.
Another’s pain spilt on your heart;
dealing with it – that’s the art.

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About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri
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