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thewi3rdthoughts Mar 2019
A piece of paper
laying on the ground
with nothing to surround.

An ink of black
scribbled around
Destiny or fair
folded, unfolded
it became a boat.

A new shape taken
light without shaken
Breeze with hands
carried away,
dropped in the flow
movement became slow.

Up and down
then turn around.
Lost in woods
with no control,
in merges.

Up and down
then turn around
Verge of drown
but no destination found.

The sun was set
day became to an end
folded, unfolded
laid deep under water.

Ink was floating
Layers were carrying
forever and forever.
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— The End —