CIL ( / )

Emerson Immitation

Showered upon, I kiss dampness,
The recesses my heart portrayed,
As rainbows after such wetness,
From which I always quickly strayed.

Inside my head, brain sopping wet,
A thought threatens to take its form,
As I struggle and think “Not yet, ”
Soon a prisoner of the storm.

As we burn pages of this book,
The fire fades and dies with haste,
Standing in a cranny, a nook,
Please, please, this cannot be a waste.

The fire finally dies, besides…
So we diligently pray,
And give our thoughts to she who cries,
All this will be a dream, someday.

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