The Beauty Never Gets Old

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    The Beauty Never Gets Old

    A day dream breaks through reality.
    In that moment I feel where I’m meant to be.
    Before me spills a fantasy,
    That no imagination could wrap around.
    There’s a breath to the air
    Pure as it blows.
    Giving silence a sound, and
    Meeting the sky with the ground
    As the trees go from green to gold
    The beauty never gets old.
    All of my senses peek at their sweetest.



    Then we pull away from our kiss…

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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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    RazrWireShrine’s Poems (4)

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