She dreams, questions the sacred.
Flying.
Paper held,
turned through
growing
revealed roses.
It (he) seems so central.
It (he) says so much.
It (he) does not tell all.
Deep in my well
I know you would
be just held.
Just held.
Risen, appropriate to
the new blooming.
Ever, if that was
its state.
Frequenter, to lonely places.
so peaceful here today!
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The wish, above the rest; that of peace, always, in the garden, for you.
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Next day, work . Hey, Michael returned savely to hannover yesterday!
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Reblogged this on A Global Divergent Literary Collective and commented:
Jonathan O’Farrell/misterkaki
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Beautiful piece… Such a lovely depiction. I am so glad I found your blog.
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