deepundergroundpoetry.com
Writing poetry
The spirit of the tree
Soaks up the pain,
Composed on writing sheets.
It slowly dissapears
In oblivion,
And my soul is now cleaned.
And the paper,
Made for comforting,
Has been soiled
By a dream...
Soaks up the pain,
Composed on writing sheets.
It slowly dissapears
In oblivion,
And my soul is now cleaned.
And the paper,
Made for comforting,
Has been soiled
By a dream...
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