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J.W Britoe

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More Reason

Her scent is of roses…sweet like wine

Down my throat I taste her,

Matured with time,

Her mind is of worth, yet priceless in standard

When one’s heartbroken,

No doubt she can mend it

Yes she is magic…she’s the supernatural

Beyond every thought,

That you think is improbable

Her walk is of elegance… no one can quite match this

She puts a spark to my heart,

Like the strike of a match stick

From the way that she holds me…to the way we connect

She makes me feel like,

We can never disconnect

Addicted to her presence…she is what is relevant

Worthy of her elegance,

None is more equivalent!

She gives me more reason… for breathing

More reason for dreaming…

You know what I mean…she really gives my life meaning

– End –

Poetic Ambitions

My hearts on a rage, my minds on a blaze

My souls in a cage, with my hands on the page

Writing like Shakespeare, scripting out novels

My work is continued, they effective like commas

Corners of poetry, acknowledge my identity

I just really wish that my work can sell globally

Too many eyes watching, waiting for my failures

Everybody watching like they sitting in the cinemas

When something works out, nobody says anything

But when something goes wrong, everybody says something

Don’t got a fifty pence piece, so my work is unnoticed

They say I need stacks so my work can be published

But what you don’t know is my mind is well nourished,

Money’s not stopping me, I’ll never be discouraged

Hope my heart bleeds, as I script with emotion,

Got arthritis, the way I draft with devotion

As these drops fall my from head like a magical potion

Hope my tears and sweat have a sought of relation

– End –

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