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A footnote in another’s story

Is a title in my own.

The power of poetry

Is something we’ve never truly known.

For a second in time my life and theirs will collide

Their past in front of me,

My future open wide.

Just another human

Drowning in a world of demands.

Now your pages are on my shelf,

And my heart is in your hands.

Anguish felt decades ago

Written into a cold and careless age,

Now I find comfort in between the lines of a page.

The power of poetry is that it reaches everybody.

Those who come and those who go.

It will sit there waiting for whoever finds it,

A flame that continues to glow.

We lived our own lives

Reading your words as I’ve grown,

You showed me that our separate histories

Are never really our own.

Instead we’ve shared this life

Within art that lives indefinitely.

A fragment of you lives in me forever,

And that is the power of poetry.

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Giovanni groggily sat up in his wheelchair. He had fallen asleep again. He gripped the inner wheel as he pushed himself along the sterile hallways. The hallways were so familiar they appeared even in


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