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The Death Of Love

a poet cannot lie,

their muse does them no favours,

revealing the wander of their eyes,

the strings of the heart,

that need constant pulling.

poems about love resurface, but

has love not already been found?

master works of rhythmic wordplay

hidden between decoy pages

the object of a sonnet is disguised,

secrets of unthinkable love, denied,

the beauty of truth, in a well

decorated lie.

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