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His questions and suppositions were the stairway
to his intimacy with the truths of life
which he lived out loud, on every page
which he laid down and for adoration, made
points of fancy to be gobbled by the masses
Yet he did not love another the way
he seemed to love his words, the way
he always stood by watching, to see who
would take his bait
who could make him feel loved
I watched and followed his treks
'cross the faces of the book of life
we love and wondered, why I needed
his face to show me
the fear which hid my own
I looked in his eyes and found my own
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