Holiday CliffA Poem by Minute ScavengerIt is only a part of being forgotten being handed over to nightfall the composition of which unchanging stored in the road bends you'd partially glance at on the way to someone's home before you decide to just let yourself stop and tumble down quite willingly at a park its high, unfound paths protruding like that blank shrinking in your eyes; The hour saddens you a little bit. What can be thought as noises are the spilled splendor of fountain breeze beckoning a mass of a migrating age behind your back to heal its crumbling hands in the water to bring to you through the eye a yawn and all its high dams a splash of absent ensemble of drowning fittings and forests an observance of indistinct slipping before locking every door and leaving when morning is nigh. © 2022 Minute ScavengerReviews
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6 Reviews Added on May 23, 2022 Last Updated on May 23, 2022 AuthorMinute ScavengerIndonesiaAboutI like to write poetry. Or at least the idea of writing poetry, because somehow I've never managed to master its arts, due to many kinds of lack, be it sensitivity, techniques, aesthetics, or all of t.. more..Writing
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