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Aug 2010
Soft lids of rain flutter shut
To the lullaby of your storms
Warming stifled sighs of dust
Someway, knowing to think no way
To all and nothing; we are trying
Something while we are nothing; decay
As the scenery buries us within irony
To this long lost parched inquiry
I look away.
Copyright © 2010 Aya Gare
Aya Gare
Written by
Aya Gare
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