Given the title and the content of this poem, best for me not to dull its impact with lame commentary... except to say, this is one to ponder deeply.
(From Dana Gioia, an amazing poet, currently serving as Chairman of the National Endowment for the Arts.)
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Unsaid
So much of what we live goes on inside--
The diaries of grief, the tongue-tied aches
Of unacknowledged love are no less real
For having passed unsaid. What we conceal
Is always more than what we dare confide.
Think of the letters that we write our dead.
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