See, you always used to say that you can't write anything longer, but this one, it's something called longer, isn't it? @_sparkling_soul And the comment section, has the best love notes for me, so I just compiled them together.
Unity of imaginations Renaissance it is Flying poets tied up their quills Words and metaphors of our hearts On pages and pages are scribbled A world of heaven in a glimpse Here a new found glory An earth better than the reality We build our home Make a family, smiles together Pours heart together You turn our tears into stars Lying between spaces of words Made our sky smile, Make it look the horizon of Autumn You harvest the moonbeams to Light up our abyss of thoughts You expand the Universe, So we can hold it in the palms of hands You give your whole heart to Bloom our words of hope You're the seed that grows The tree of eternity....
Wish you a very Happy Birthday @mirakee ♥️ Keep Inspiring us...
An unalarmed fool with bigotries at his feet, clumsy and untidy like documentaries left unedited. The fool watches things intently, not trying in the slightest but unable to help it.
Street lamps flicker in severed attacks of mirth, taunting a much more helpless fool than their spit stained bottoms. He walks much the same with two feet learning the patterns, right after left and left never parallel to the right.
One foot standing still and another moving past. A walking etiquette hard to unfollow, while lamppost chortled at the discordant right hand unable to follow up the left leg.
Fool tired of spit stained bottoms being compared to his appearance, he stopped the left leg parallel to the right one. Unwalking etiquettes, that's how they learn. Hands stopping untimely at late notified signals.
Back of the fool facing at the grumpy cement filled walls of the alley. Away from chortling immobile lamp posts with their spit stained anecdotes. The grumpy groans are tossed at the fool's back, but he is watching and he can't help it.
Alley berated, "Shadows are immune to emotions." -----------------------
The beaches are all tearing up with sweaty tears and residues of salt on sharp tongues. Far off to the coast, the sands are dry but there's no lack of warmth. Sun seems to be generous and discreetly diabolical.
Closer to the water, everything is wet and cold. Soaked earth never stops weeping, it's a habit gone with the flood. Waves try to go farther, trying to reach the sand trapped in the desert while the intensity is hidden beneath the middle of an undesirable destination.
Horizons are distorted, misplaced and blurred. Farsightedness is an eye default, well what about illusions? It is silent, but waters are drunk jobless delinquents. Laughter is never hushed, and eyes are never shut. They see with defects, the scenic view with lucid blind spots.
Sands are laughing still, endless and unwinding. The dry sand farther from the coast, melting in the day yet unable to weep salt. Close to the waters, everything is wet, the setting sun in wet hues of orange and 12 am soaked in the black of midnight.
Moon is cloudless today, the apparent part deserted and luminous, while the hidden half moist in tears. -------------------