• adamantquill 11w

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    Is there an answer in those
    blank pages? They got soaked
    when I accidentally spilled some
    teardrops mixed in ink, now drying
    them under the solisequious poem.
    Answers to the unanswered utopia that
    I once dreamt of on night of lost stars,
    nexion of pandemonium calling me.

    I was never a speck of dust until I
    discovered the vastness of this
    universe that I dwell in, against my will.
    Isn't it ironic how science fanatics are
    trying to unfold secrets of the black hole
    while writers are already inhabiting them
    and using them as portals to their poetic
    elysiums and crafting tales of renaissance.

    I was painting my nights with happy lies
    with bright tints and hues of jubilance.
    Now I am only left with dark shades in
    my palette, they are painting blues and mirk.
    I asked the daisies to lend me some
    happy dyes for my happy lies on dark nights;
    they asked for a gleeful poetry about them and
    unfortunately I have never written one on them.

    On hapless days, I sway with the wind
    and leaves, dancing to the rhythm of
    dried foliage on the ground, it's a happy song.
    My soul is nourished in euphoria.
    Oh wait! Is this the utopia of my dream that
    I dreamt on yesternight? Am I still dreaming?
    This feels like a deja vu, I feel lost in it.
    Where am I?
    I don't know what I wrote, it is what it is ✌️

    #start #writersnetwork

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    I feel lost in it.