A piece of shattered abstract


I laughed last on lost strings.
It’s gleaming and true
Like starry seas in stark sights
Contained in spirits so soulful

Blooming jazz, the remedy in the eye
Of an alien and another alone entity
Truly and faithfully loved by euphemisms
With possibly possessive pink pain
Poignant divinity and the head reminds
That the river runs through its bed and we sleep
We’re an ode to an era and proper props.

In an afternoon in the morning sunshine,
As the pale pleasures of pessimism fall on crooked corners of certainty,
Awakens the awkward rhythm of rites,
In an inexplicable hope than a waving ocean shall reverse itself,
Into a stream of slow waters,
Sputtering and wavering,
By a sandy beach.

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