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Alan S Aug 10
The loneliness of the spotlights,
staring back at the sadness,
with a fresh smell of concrete,
and a defeat of forever,
a sad trumpet plays from a pit,
                                                       deep
                                                                down
the last walk to the gold that promised eternal life,
flirting with the trumpet in the wind.
Alan S May 6
the songs of wings flutter in the air,
            softly through the stars, begins the fear,
                                                                
                                                    the loss of who
                                              a question remains,

          a destain for the most precious,
          a party of cranes conversing in silence,
          a life that remains unbalanced.

— The End —