Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry. (W.B. Yeats)
Here lies that which is inside no more, that which burns my mind and must be expelled. Here lies the greatest of all inventions. Here lies words.
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
2016 Weekly Writing Experience: February 8th to 14th
Write a 5 line poem about the morning after
The furthest point I will ever be
From that dreaded day again;
Nothing like a whole new year
To wash away the loneliness
Of a forlorn Valentine's Day.
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