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Jan 2015
While the stone awaits in a lengthy span of time,
The blue curtain blankets its soul;
Waiting to turn into dust, into light
Into non-existence
'Till the gems of the sea washes up ashore
Just as the clouds of disarray
Spits out the last specks of light
As it blends with the mist.
And into the far distance, the stone awaits
Down goes the last drop
Won't rotate the hourglass
Its time is up.
A poem started by Frank Lloyd A.K.A. Tiger and finished by me.
A sort of random poem. It's worth to try.

© Frank Lloyd Manalang
© Cyrille Octaviano
Cyrille Octaviano
Written by
Cyrille Octaviano
445
 
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