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I write to paint a picture
of my dream today
Just in case my dreams
Doesn’t exist tomorrow.
Every letter
Is a piece of my spirit.
Every word
Is a prayer to be
Without escaping
From myself
While escaping
Within myself
And
The road that follows,
Is bliss
Sometimes I wonder if we are living a dream. If the life we’re living is actually real or if we are asleep believing that the dream is life.
Perhaps that explains why some do not want to wake today
words like teeth without roots
hands emptied of dreams
oh, the hideous pride of a bit
to be all

I've decided
so limp and stuttering
as I am
to face despair as stones face
the wind's breath
my hands put new letters into words
in these words that are old barrels
in which they keep distilling
the pain of the world
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