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Aug 2013
They aren't real, these hills that fray
Like patchwork through the clouds of grey,
My footsteps trace the path alone
Across the land as real as stone
And over dreams as soft as clay.

The rocks made real by light of day
Subconscious realms do not obey,
They stand more firm than inner drone
But aren't real.

I wish for just a single ray
To take the falsehood hills away
When clouds exhale a windy tone
That steals the way my form is shown,
I wail and try to find the way
But I'm unreal.
Alexander Klein
Written by
Alexander Klein
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