Poetry · Writing

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Take three:

The night, the current,

strangled the life with

natures cuffs. The light of

Diana broke the silence,

She sat with her hands in his,

waiting for his lips to move.

White light covered his lids,

the future he envisioned,

and her cold hands looking

for a flare of warmth.

The white light crept into

a brief opening, than closed,

than opened like a revolving door.

The cool breeze stole the air

from his lungs and ripped them

to the stream and tied them

with bricks and chains.

He crept close, “You sure?”

Take four:

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