Unless that life is being examined,
Whether painful or not,
All pimped out or damaged,
A reflection of one's dreams or nightmares,
It's really all the same,
The value of your life's your awareness,
For no one determined the way they came.
P'haps if there was a pre-birth registry,
So we could map life out,
From how we are raised to our thoughts at death,
Void of all fear and doubt,
Then poems'd be glad,
Diversions from more glad.
With no disappointments of which to write,
Poets would have no audience for sad.
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