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Vladimir Kuntic Jan 2017
Window in the front,
portal by his side.
Performed a stunt,
and stopped the ride.
.
For him, it was a choice made,
for others, no other way.
Walls were only there to aid,
bricks for someone else to lay.
There was no need to be afraid,
for everything, they had to pay.
Time he wished he could trade,
for tracks that sometimes go stray.
Forest always seen as a shade,
not answering, when they pray.
In the end, the words will fade,
everything is written in the final play.
.
To care for lights,
he was taught.
Now through nights,
the train of thought.
Vladimir Kuntic Jan 2017
Treading on a thread
through a needle head,
said it was too sad
to paint life red.

Made a promise to a little bird
to let her dreams be heard,
took a turn heading for the top
didn’t turn around, didn’t stop,
took the praise not earned
left every little soul burned.

Felt the guilt of nothing kept
believed the little heart wept,
was amazed to see her fly
forgiveness hidden in the eye,
higher than one could climb,
only with a gentle chime.

Silent birds flew
to them nothing new,
all that was said true
now a dream in blue.

— The End —