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Dragonfly

how many more times will it happen, she loves it she says, and it is just the way she meant


how many more times it will happen, the breaks in the reflection of the mirrored dance twas'


just a midnight ago, just a bite of the apple hanging from the branch, metal trees grown so


different it seams tearing the mind against the teeth to be streamed, defying gravitys on


planets whirling rounds incessantly what the mind believes to fight the pull and, in breaking


once more unto the breach of the crashing waves upon the shore of reminisciences invoked


invocations of the cloak still sparkles like the laughter of clowns at the convention hall for


festivale, veiled unknowingness with a noose dressed like a necklace, twas' given from the


palm of the hand high fived just days before the street went dark, before the torches light


led happy eyes and street crossed wise men toward what, none so questioning a thing near


or far, nor does it matter the place nor the time, find eye shall be given into all madness


alike without fail without doubt of the hindrances the strength of hind legs to bend like the


will of whispering nuances hardly caught the verbose language hardly struck the face for the


mask descended hardly blown the candle oft alight upon the table made for the captivated


audiences whom, none so a meadow couldst be overgrown, through thicker theives I shant


know, never a second twas held by a better faltering hand unwavering at the thought of all


things destructive, for chaos of the riddling walk through, on three, two, and one more for


the applause like rainfall, for him & I, truly was a moment of, no greater, none to be had so


often the mind falls illusive to the traps laid by the wasted hours spent staring into the abyss


lingering amongst the falling leaves burning from the forest once called my home, spent far


too long undecided, crept through the mindless dews of a mercurial drop spreading thru &


thru all things the way falters each step crossing the self made mistakes too many to count


what shall it be then aye, to give in, unto the faith of forever asking again and again if and


evermoreso when exactly was it again, couldst almost believe in a man, a number of them


and what the soul wants is what the brain fights, bone white, grasping at the ever fleeting


nuances of consciousness devised to be broken by fear of consequence, and ever it is and


shall be, truly time tested and words meander long ways for a smiling face of someday, if


it is and wherefore unto what it is, and what it could be, everything could have been and


anything could still become someone under the moonlit scene being revealed as a traitor


to the sacred belief, do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law, hast thou walked far


away in search of just exactly it is that you need to be shown how all things in alignment


create the condemnation of the mind set on self denial, for just how much exactly it was

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