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Oct 2018
The simple life of pillows,
Or clouds.
Both being of stellar variety.
the burning gasp of being saved,
everything goes eventually,
If  you leave the room
The space will be missing something;
When it is found,
A trillion Seconds you
thought you lost,
will catch up to you.
All things return
To their someplace;
Now all that is earthly
around me,
has begun to rustle
And wave,
There is no other planet to go
To,
There is no farther away,
The machines are eating the child’s
Tomorrow’s,
The air is bleeding
It’s invisible hue,
The earth in search,
Desperate to borrow
Time,
pilfered from
Everything with an ending
The hour is coming,
You and I will seek
It to;
Just up that way
Then to the right,
Through the frozen fields
of nimbus Pass,
Just a horseshoe
toss from
the holy
Water-rise,
Watching,
Where nothing falls-
While the drifting spritzes-
Do not drip-
But climb.

The mountain staircase
Of night;

I will go.

Because the hour draws close;
And soon when the
Unending dusk grows,
No road will be empty.

Perhaps I will
Return to someplace,
That will only be a place
Once I’ve arrived,
Someplace as lost as all the rocks,
I’ll build a throne and observe
The might of the almighty,
The Strong roots of infinite
Shades of blackness-
Where all creation
Happens
Ilion gray
Written by
Ilion gray  Brooklyn, new york city
(Brooklyn, new york city)   
  9.7k
         abecedarian, MJL, K Mae, SMS, Randy and 65 others
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