Monday, September 7, 2015


Like a river that split,
Like sun's rays that glow down,
Like the four seasons lit
In classic orchestra
Beside the perfume store,
Where I felt in my core

The need for another,
Another smooth liar.
Our lies may bother
Like the playful friar.
It's just the way we live.
Creations I conceive.

They also come from his
Mind that won't ever miss,
Though our looks can please

Even the greatest kings.
We work behind the halls,
Flying on a ghost's wings.
They delete our calls,
For they need our help
More than our own self.
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