<p>Love hate friendship and heartbreak are all facts of life best concealed in metaphors. If I pluck out each rose from the field they will all have a story to tell. The field is in my imagination but the roses are as real as the sun. Why would you ever live in reality when you can escape to a beach with gloomy skies a vast rose field and a thriving forest? Poetry is escapism. Poetry is cathartic. </p>
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