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JT
Poems
Nov 2020
Serious Poetry Not Ironic No. 2: ****
The sun sets o’er an idle bay.
The gulls who’ve lulled now fly away.
It feels like summer’s here to stay
And something smells like ****.
The night becomes a serene blaze
Of stars that are a humbling maze.
I walk home with a fastened gaze
And it still smells like ****.
The fog falls as I reach my door.
Beauty I see — city no more.
Streets are streams; buildings fade to moor.
I must have stepped in ****.
The beauty we see can astound
But order breaks.
—
Ugliness lingers
In every beautiful thing.
Check your shoe.
Written by
JT
24/M/Pennsylvania
(24/M/Pennsylvania)
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