the swirling sky
crumbles into waves – like
that of the ocean tides; along the
crispy lies might a crackling cry voice
out with the vocal sigh, as tears die nigh
droplets of rain; the eyes shall then wet and
whine, but as long as the crystal colors of vivid
dreams await; not a single monster crawls out of the wardrobe
or from under the bed, and all is for the one good night’s sleep
that I write-
shaping words through ink that dries faster than the brine.
whilst wondering, if there’s ever a place where I could lie,
speaking voices that don’t cry and never shy,
bold and bright, smart and straight,
just a tongue I seek to speak
-the words that I shalt
borrow from


—Known Stranger

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