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Satisfied
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July 2003 Poetry I could tell everyone to go away,
so I could finally be alone,
but I wouldn't be satisfied.
I could move away,
far, far, away,
and tell no one,
shut everyone out,
and sever all contact,
but I wouldn't be satisfied.
And won't be,
until I die.
Then and only then,
will I be satisfied.
~*~ Jill ~*~
