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  October's Child


As night descends, I sit under the light of the moon.  
A face circles inside twilight's greeting.  
Words whisper as they are swept away into the silken waterfall of illusion.
A pause in the gap of time becomes nostalgic dust.


Below, the dark night pond will immerse
every phrase drop by drop
They fall away into the unknown.  
The wind is compassionate
I drift to the tip of the earth
I will observe its meaning.  
It whispers of tomorrow's kiss..
Listen and you will hear


Life is not a book, but a masked performance.  
Dreams are glamorous realities
Filled with gossamer thoughts.
Wishes dance inside our minds...
Reality becomes a braided channel of life
It runs deep inside our veins.  
Embrace each moment as you dare to dream.
It may be all that you'll ever have

nostalgique réalité

June 26, 2009


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