Salutations
Where the world bears its brittle and brisk arrays
like a drying and scorching wind
until the heart feels so stiff and unable to beat,
just feeling left among the stones and driftwood lives
as it becomes a cold and silent wasteland
without any embers to heat the mind
nothing to know, but gray morns in solitude.
But inside dwells the dreamer of lights and clouds,
who will try to reach out and greet reality,
refuse to die a withered soul in rigor mortis hope,
truly continuing to express the passion and love inside
so it doesn’t get forgotten on the barren beaches
often strolled in search for sand castle miracles
One outstretched cry to face the sky,
one earnest plea to declare your identity
because climbing into a grave,
while still alive
is never the desire in any spirit of liberty,
which will still defy the stagnant landscape
and grope against the tides and time
ever clutching at the day
to let the life that has been infertile by fate
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