rpatel
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My stories
Downpour
The wind whispered a faint, delicate word as it whooshed past the small girl Her fragile fingers and nimble hands held steadfastly to the drooping flower she so cautiously picked up from the meadow
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- 844 reads
The Rush
New York is home to the rush. Chaos is ever-present. Men and women hurry to work. The destitute line the roads, begging. The intense atmosphere is palpable. Vehicles demand the streets, unmoving.
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- 682 reads
There Was a Child Went Forth (In the Tradition of Walt Whitman)
There was a child went forth everyday, And the first object she looked upon and received with wonder or pity or love or dread, that object she became,
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- 987 reads
Dedication
Dedication is a man with deep scars carved in to his rough skin and painful memories that can be easily through the sorrow in his eyes. Dedication is a man who left his family and home behind
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- 672 reads
B is for Beach
the dazzling sun loomed overheAd its Brilliance was almost blinding the Calm and tranquility of the ocean its Depth was unthinkable vast, seemingly Endless
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- 573 reads