LUI
writings
ninety four on pick
meddling on metal the melody and treble forsee the muse
inside the the sounds now pouring brief but cautiosly.
spoken in a shiver i fault to hault the quivering nerves
that deter my hands from keeping me still.
reverberating on the silence of the situation
converting the tone into an instant timed alliteration,
i see the fixed vibrations of the lash loved ocean
reflecting smile of innocent grace.
brushing past the face of a ninety three to ninety seven
pressed nostalgia i recollect the retrospect.
in this i meant to those whose frailties became
negotianble through certain aided circumstances,
a sincere unapathetic apology.
yet
we speak a silent mile while we breech a violent smile
that smirks the starry eyed liars in these benign but
lifting trials which we're left bound to by stress...
and in this catastrophic mess i cant help but fight to
disalign this mixed yet taught address of a fury to faith,
shaken and dismayed, polluted yet replayed echo of time
whose life is still just a simple yet bolded side of gray
the summer of the willow will owe to us what we now know
is just a spouted sky of wonder, wondered by the innocent
and fickle.
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