Poem by: air
Synergies of soft, faint expressions.
The day?- 'Obscure'
In pattern with the mind I suppose?
The morning dove being the solace
inside the fresh early air,
touches me in a way,
brushing aside the dreams of night.
The parts of me that think about
mystical nuances waging wars against dragons,
then to become the very fire they breathe,
await somewhere else...
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