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There was this earth-like, heavenly scent
that sneaked inside my brain,
a comfort zone to me, was lent
until the noise drove me insane.

A carpenter was this Jesus man
he died on a piece of wood,
irony has always been a part of the plan
that alone, must be understood.

I since have ceased my longing
for things that aren't to be,
fate can just about hand me anything
and it'll have no effect on me.

Because, I have been "lessoning"
to all of the things that life has hurled,
my little definition's worth mentioning
because it stems from this cruel world.

How could I even long for
what has made me feel this way?
Forgive me if I lock my door
and only open it during the light of day.

So lonely are my evenings
and as, the night grows it gets worse,
there are no surprises with what it brings
because, I'm so familiar with this curse!

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 

Comments read it exactly right. Thanx for your understanding.

Neopoet is "newtriffic" !
...from the heart, or a reasonable faxcimile;
david a. goodwin #{:>{)} @==

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