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Bliss



The only thing that makes sense is joy, bliss.
And the world isn't made for it.
The world hinders it.  Hides it.

How strong it must be to break through
the world's defenses, how determined,
how insistent!

Words, not quite right.
World, not quite right.
But this!

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.