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May 1
The morning after,
the darkest of days
Bring the bluest of skies, filled with disaster
With ripples that start a new phase.
The dust finally disappearing
and the wind whistling
upon the green hills a clearing
and the hunters whittling.
A new world arises.
Thrones itself on the ashes,
looking down on us, despises.
Dreams built on flashes.
So comes the morning after
Skies filled disaster.
Written by
Naeem  18/M/South Africa
(18/M/South Africa)   
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