Literary Brilliance comes but once, but twice but thrice.  It comes in

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suffering, pain, joy, love, though it seems to take on all forms. Poetry, song, story, tale, proverb, it comes but only once, twice, yet thrice. Will you in your joy find a moment to take to your paper your thoughts f which you have felt, you see and you feel. Do not claim to have today what you do not have and will not have tomorrow. One needs to feel the love or hate of those in order to write. In despair he casts his net and yet not one fish caught as day breaks and another day comes with its rays of light only to go again and be replaced by my friend the night who comforts all sorrows with a hand of cut glass. He pats my shoulder with the gentleness of a day’s breeze. When the sorrow has gone laughter takes its place only to have darkness laugh and slap my shoulder with mirth only to bring back the sorrow abandoned the dark moment before. To save my soul from everlasting wounds I am saved by the light of our day in which healing is introduced, but when will the pain stop for the healing takes time and bruising occurs, will this heart ache until its

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wounds separate it from its being and discard it only to take it up and mend it piece by piece just as the last piece is delicately patched onto the rest a dark hand slaps back again taking more pieces out than are returned.