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gothic poetry

mundo que muda sob minha mão
deus
não seja falso
eu amo minha vida, mas não demasiado bem
quando os mar-ventos perfuraram nossos solitudes
poderíamos nós mas para saber
quando liberdade de sua altura da montanha
eu vi que o deus você a duvida?
era o outono do ano
eu sou o vento que wavers
ruídos que strive rasgar
eu agito meu cabelo no vento da manhã

 



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