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Untitled

every morning,

with excruciating strokes of grace,

the light of the distant sun,

orchestrates entire symphonies

against your violent skin,

as if only for me :

the humble audience

for these divine harmonies

that transcend my sense(s).

 

your multitudes are to me

what flash thunderstorms

are to quiet, summer forests

and in your presence

I have crossed these shadows,

erased their weight,

for you revive

the colours of my dreams

& their vibrancy.

 

 

I know not from which place you have come,

nor how long you have traveled to reach me.

I know only that you feel like home

and now, that I have waited so long

(for you)

to arrive.

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Written by
la-jongleuse
American
Published
Mar 20, 2015
Lines·Words
24·111
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