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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #2082598
Poetry based on present state of feeling
Hush, I feel the rush.
Dazed, my feet is seen where the sunlight meets.
Shapes, non consciously looking for cars my field just a peripheral haze.
Take nothing that is lush but on forward time is such.

Crows go cruralling under cumulative groups.
Containg constant deplorable private conversation
I sit up on a cloned ground where gravity last long.

Hush, crow.
Hush, talkative clouds.
Hush, barren grounds.
Hush soul, let the sun kiss the flying eyes again.

Authors: Sometimes poetry doesn't have to be a given. If it was a consonant would it make this poem any less perfect than art.
Written by: Tina Marie George Revised November 19, 2021
© Copyright 2016 Tina M. Courtney (tinag at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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