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Gord

2021-02-04 03:12 am
Open lies, a world full,
Ocean tides, border known,
Mapped upon a mobile phone,
Burning eyes, wait in line,
A door, for more control;
Face comes first, defines,
Then maybe later stones.

Which would be more alone?
Sitting German in Lederhosen,
Burning all my former clothes,
Formal close, cutting ties;
Or a heart of glass, love inside, 
Which fights a world, nothing like?

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Gord

2020-11-12 06:34 am
He writes on reeds,
Rides on steeds,
Likely feeling.

He sees the sea,
Steels a seal,
Greets, then eats.

He wastes away,
Hastily his days,
Vast mountains sway.

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