And yet, the night breeze, I sensed, it became a hurricane in the morning, my dream, in it as though truth itself, is to know that night breeze, as though in romance- to romance the mystery of the hidden truth. For I love the night breeze, which so few yet can sense.
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Monday, May 16, 2011
I listen to sounds! Blackest ink!
Poem by Marc Aupiais
I don't want to say my name, Its nothingness. Beautiful to me, To everyone.
But what is it! If I can't hear, Your lips speak. Of me. You see!
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No spam, junk, hate-speech, or anti-religion stuff, thank you. Also no libel, or defamation of character. Keep it clean, keep it honest. No trolling. Keep to the point. We look forward to your comments!