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Somewhere in your life, you will hear this.
Yes, they all look the same to me.
But pay attention to why you say?
You might find a fist to make you readjust your thinking process.

When you say?
They all look the same to me.
Culture, upbringing and faith of their religious is different.
Base not everything upon looks and of course not color.

Whenever you say?
They all look the same to me.

Why?
Because it just not true.
a muffled song came through the walls
the walls of my shame
clearer now its sweet refrain,
'don't you know you are forgiven'
I came as I,
Always believing in myself.
I got married,
And became We,
We built a home,
Had a boy and girl,
We became us.
Us had a story,
With many chapters
Some with sad and some with happy memories.
16/11/2023
I'm not entirely sure if it's you I love
Or just the feeling of being in love.
Is it the taste of red wine
Or it's mild woozy high?
Written in wooziness
A blackbird’s flight through endless night
I gaze through window panes of light
  At places I have never seen
  Beyond my primal tidal dream

  To sail the ship of light untouched
   To feel it’s beauty in the rough
    An uncut diamond unretouched
    That out survives forever
                    
    I walk my trail beside the dawn
     To know the joy of what is gone
     With the feeling that before to long
      I’ll find the place I know in song

      A blackbirds flight through endless night
      I gaze through window panes of light
     At places I have never seen
     Beyond my primal tidal dream

      To sail the ship of light untouched
       To feel it’s beauty in the rough
       An uncut diamond unretouched
       That out survives forever
I'm having a difficult time coming up with new material so I'm re-submitting this.  It's an oldie.
Curtains blow
through tight closed panes
not a breath of wind
but the shape remains
no breeze has settled on my windowsill
outside the sleeping world is still
and yet those curtains wander where they will
I turn my back on flowered fingers
and try to sleep
but the feeling lingers
Trying to suggest billowy curtains in the rhythm of the poem
with fistful of words
-scattered
the return to silence

fruit of golden mantle
-snatched
in quivering fingers
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