She
Remote thoughts rise unbidden
From the recesses of my mind.
Thoughts once hidden
In the confines of fruitless aggravation
Bellow and stamp to be heard
By the unwilling brain.
There is neither rhyme nor reason
To the constant surfacing
Yet there is a sort of pattern,
Not discernable to the naked and untrained eye.
Primarily though, the thoughts harbor but one subject.
She is there, always, bidden or unbidden.
__________________
Xothan
AIM - icarlson75
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