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is it dangerous to wish for those goods of which are not I, are not me, are not the breath that we breathe upon the gentlest and free summer morning? or the gleam of the beaks perched humbly in the cradle of the cuckoo's nest still adorning? before their wings bare vulnerable to the light of the wind and to man and to bringing their unsuspecting redeeming to the order of clinging to the now; or the we, or the me, and the I, and the us, and the beat of the heart that keeps borning?
0
Jul 21, 2022
Jul 21, 2022 at 4:57 PM UTC
i dream of the lives i could have lived
is it dangerous to wish for those goods of which are not I, are not me, are not the breath that we breathe upon the gentlest and free summer morning? or the gleam of the beaks perched humbly in the cradle of the cuckoo's nest still adorning? before their wings bare vulnerable to the light of the wind and to man and to bringing their unsuspecting redeeming to the order of clinging to the now; or the we, or the me, and the I, and the us, and the beat of the heart that keeps borning?
This is the first poem I've written in 2 years.
haaleybee
Written by
24/F/indiana
Jul 21, 2022
Jul 21, 2022 at 4:57 PM UTC
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