Cymbalism - Gord - Aspoet
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Gord

2017-12-15 08:34 am
A doctor says to me:
There is no healing,
Tells me just to be,
No wishful thinking.

His heart a bean,
Feelings consumed.
Living amused,
Is no good for me,
Misunderstood by you.

Forever twilight,
A gradient life,
Polite goodbyes.

He lives like limes,
His hands a vine,
No tree remarked,
With loved ones dying.

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