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| >> Static Item >> Other >> Experience >> ID #965875 |
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I walk about in my dream pageant.
Eternal moon-colored sculptures always remember me from the cold sunlight and shadows of that spring. I creep beneath my skin, chase a lost season; wander through lives almost incubated. Thoughts murmured in a deep blue language. On occaison the Never turns time out into a life thick with shade, no air, nor sound. Above me a dark bird flies, waiting for the fall. I lay under this beautiful cloudy vacation when hard sleep shivers by.
© Copyright 2005 Violet Branwen (UN: bsue3 at Writing.Com).
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