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suicide poetry

a escuridão
a agonia de ter demasiado poder
sombras voadas que varrem perto
travails da terra
sob a lua da colheita
minha alma é um campo ploughed escuro
material da lua
a fragrância veio
ido antes de nós
porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
qual se mantem
mas alas, sonhos justos
um céu que nunca soubesse o sol, a lua ou as estrelas
uma vida na onda do oceano

 



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