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Arjan Wilmsen Apr 2020
the wind brushing the mountain tops
the waves crashing into land
the soil saturated with sweet raindrops
and now I finally understand

islands in the vast ocean
dressed in mysterious clouds
always alive, constant motion
and now I say it out loud

this place feels like home
my soul and mind belong
a nordic paradise in every chromosome
sound of nature, its theme song

forever i will be
longing to awake
on these islands of my dreams
a precious keepsake
Àŧùl Apr 2017
The driver did not stop,
He did not fear any cop,
Human heads he was to chop.

Made a red purée of humans,
He read Satanic Verses,
It's a religion of peace.
Sweden bleeds.

My HP Poem #1485
©Atul Kaushal

— The End —