In thirst we search for truth,
Through pain we find credence,
But gliding without a muse
worths touching, worths a glance.
The fear of felicity
is so serene,
Even ruins of dirt passed a wall
can decay even the most able queen.
Sights to wonder, oh, a-wandering,
Sweats to break, no silence called
for. In tarmac of blood grows a ring,
A bond was born; in years we shall
unearth clogged gold. Yet craters shine
with tears so severe,
Only a vestige can bind
a handshake and a laughter.
Flee! You unworthy enemy,
Drag your ego marred by marbles,
Our sequins continue to be
a separate reverie of marvels.
Syaza
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