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Post by Dunstan Attard on Jun 12, 2007 23:52:16 GMT -5
The mountains spread in all directions They do not look like mountains from up here They have no conclusion They do not remind me of a forest. Up to a few moments ago They were shrouded in cloud Pretending to be life just before death. Now they drown in tremendous blue. Do they dream of yellow lemons? I wonder how they look in evenings Or when lightening slices through their veins With the transcendence of an afterlife That spills sunlight On the reaper Of quietude.
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