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Feb 2016
My head is a maze.
A city you somehow navigate.
Coloured doors and rooms full of pages.
A fountain in the middle that
catches the moments of sunlight
amongst the clouds.
Trees that shade the lanes
no other footstep has traveled.
Where did you get a map?
Did you find it or
did you create it?
Christiana Krump
Written by
Christiana Krump  US
(US)   
318
   PoetryJournal
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