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A fog crept down from the hills Of our fathers. She stopped in fear, Cowering before the bleakness, I ate it whole. My eyes see her, But the world is not one-sided. The sea lapped at the sand, slowly eating it away. The quiet feast drained our beautiful discourse But Nothing will ever appease the sea I say ever. It was never. In the Amazon, exotic draws in its prey. Not through attractiveness but through mystery. I found your river its depths never touched, Lying beneath are countless secrets. Should I search for them? Solve all the problems? For answers, War will rage, countless will die. War is what she never understood. Its allure, You think me sick, maybe. But when I pass, lives will have changed, and she She will be sitting not on a beach. Not in the Amazon, not even among her hallowed mountains. She will be a charmed snake, attuned to the flat never- Ending expanse of world that grows and is harvested yearly. We lived through fog. Well, I lived. She crawled and hid through the cacophony Of hidden beauty. Go out, live rough, take the hard road. End Log:
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Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
Travel Log:
A fog crept down from the hills Of our fathers. She stopped in fear, Cowering before the bleakness, I ate it whole. My eyes see her, But the world is not one-sided. The sea lapped at the sand, slowly eating it away. The quiet feast drained our beautiful discourse But Nothing will ever appease the sea I say ever. It was never. In the Amazon, exotic draws in its prey. Not through attractiveness but through mystery. I found your river its depths never touched, Lying beneath are countless secrets. Should I search for them? Solve all the problems? For answers, War will rage, countless will die. War is what she never understood. Its allure, You think me sick, maybe. But when I pass, lives will have changed, and she She will be sitting not on a beach. Not in the Amazon, not even among her hallowed mountains. She will be a charmed snake, attuned to the flat never- Ending expanse of world that grows and is harvested yearly. We lived through fog. Well, I lived. She crawled and hid through the cacophony Of hidden beauty. Go out, live rough, take the hard road. End Log:
john-allen
Written by
American
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
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