“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Thursday, June 30, 2016
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Nightfall
Woken from a deep slumber, as if my name was spoken aloud. Only the spotlight of a honeyed full moon sings across my shadowed walls. Heart...

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1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
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Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...
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Natures touch is both gentle and fierce. Homo sapiens trample on her back. The thick skin impossible to pierce. So...
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