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By thalia on
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Thursday, March 27, 2008
A man is dying
His heart cannot feel,
did he ever feel?,
the touch of the sun
The sun breath on his face never paints sunflowers on his cheeks
Nor does he hear sublime music as the sun comes apart,
crossing dense pine needles just before nodding to the cease
If you are the shining flame that glares everywhere,
I wish he has a shower of sun arrows
Deep bassoon notes against his heart failure
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