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written by: The Red Pen


I sit here waiting for it all to come to me
A universe away, yet I can feel it the yearn for it,
When kept from it, I lose my grip,
On waves of ascent and descent,
Hope goes through me,
The hope of having what is kept from mind's sight,
Tickling, wheezing, at the edge of mind,
A box: the box of all that is hid,
An object not seen and not opened,
But there are some that destroy this yearn,
This kept thing but not given, this box,
I seek to open,
But what will be left,
After opened?

The Red Pen

The Red Pen

The Red Pen is a young upcoming writer and poet who stretches the boundaries of space and time, digging into worlds unknown to create that which is unknowable.
The Red Pen

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