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Oct 2014
in restful time of morn,
when the day has dawned,
the birds hang themselves
on the clothes line, shrivelled
from the storm of night.

four clouds in the sky, overcast
but no rain
empty sun beams from
behind, peeking
without ritual smile, sadness
though, it feigns.

And horizon seeks solace in shadows
only time will bring about.
the waters are still, silent
in this restful time of morn
when fish become plates,
and seas become teas,
and forests become dead
and birds eat bees.
Written by
Vitæ  23/Somewhere, Anywhere.
(23/Somewhere, Anywhere.)   
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