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Aug 2020
The grey day, the dark clouds,
The sway of the branch.
The darkness, the thunder,
The shatter of breaking glass.
The teeming street,
Now deserted.
The purposeful rider,
His only purpose to find refuge.
And through my own looking glass,
I find a calm.
A fleeting calm that washes over,
A calm deep enough for me to see
The haven the turmoil created within me.
Written by
Zoya
58
 
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