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a thunderbolt

strikes sound once,

wherefrom other

flashes of lightning

pay homage to its

lit night.

humble as figments

of imagination.
I gave you so many chances
And now I regret
Some people Never change
.It’s a poison that I’m drinking since your soulless corpse.
followed by feeling alone
Why are they
here

why are we
here

am I really
here

mysterious
could be a word

but whatever name
or term

they're most beautiful
when much is left

to an unbridled
imagination


Whit Howland © 2020
An impressionistic word painting. An original.
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