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May 2016
The orchestra of my organs distil upon
my soul, purest obscurity.

shards linger awaiting the intervals of
perpetual synchronicity.

Then they submerge on dove white innocence
watching feathers weep into my soul.

My essence now feverish as veins of desecration
now stem the flow of my inner peace, now dismal.
Poetic T
Written by
Poetic T  On Oblivions Doorstep
(On Oblivions Doorstep)   
483
     Poetic T, Andrew Name and woolgather
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