• verbose 89w

    Ocean, rivers, streams between the valley and stellar peaks. My soul has arisen astral being, mingling between moon beams.

    Can you really capture reality and enslave it depending upon the caprices ?!

    I was told fight the reflection in the mirror, or, steal it's identity for a masquerade.
    The sun heads home to clouds, as nighttime walks up proud.

    I wave and greet the flock, who goes home according to the clock. Drifting darkness drawing in visuals fading dramatically mist slowly turning to thick, frothy frog.

    With half broken breaths and hallowed mind burning the midnight oil, slowly giving in to the night like the melting candle. I write,
    A poem of love,
    A poem of light.

    I tend to hold on things that have memories or emotions attached to them like a paperclip. Every alphabet, every word, every line and in every leaf of my diary, moments scream silent uproar, with ear piercing and echoing noise.

    Book marking sands of good time,
    Scenting every moist paper,
    Moist, not just with the ink but with the flooded eyes.



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    I do still believe in tomorrows with better and more improved todays. I believe, someday you'll recall my name and I'll be getting hiccups for sake of my existence in your memories.