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Nuna Dec 2017
On that Sunday morning I turned to the left side of the bed reaching to grab your hand but I found nothing but your absence reaching back grabbing my hand pulling me out of bed yet leaving my body there walking me through the empty rooms filled with your echo and scent that I breathe in and out while wandering still being held hostage by your absence it's like it's trying to show me something that's been hiding in the gaps you left in my heart and soul I can't sleep at night knowing I can't reach for your hand or comfort or kiss me goodbye before you leave I begged you please yet there was still nothing but empty bedsheets and broken promises in the kitchen and some lost dreams on the balcony
MysticRiddleton Sep 2017
(a Shakespearean sonnet by MysticRiddleton)

Lake of mirror from beneath,
On thee reclines the wet gray cotton sea
Glowing faintly overneath
Projects penumbras of the tree
Pictures alter by the angle
Heaven slithers swift as I
Near and closely leans in angle
Sees thy creature eye to eye
Alas! The radiance that makes thee luster
Decides to pluck thee bit by bit
Pictures fading by the mirror
Lake of mirror, be not beat!
Keep thy stagnant lake, oh mirror
Let thou ripple with some vapor.
This poem describes an object which appears only on a certain natural phenomenon. Try to guess what the object is.

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