Musings of a Poet

Musings of a Poet

In the luxury of reveries and a heart, melting like chalk dust, the day grinned to an unfaithful dusk. Obscurities fathomed the void in my soul, jilting and fumbling and faltering the breadth of my veins, like a dying storm, unchastised by a poet’s fantasies and a writer’s soliloquy. You know how the storm knocks at my door? You know that old swine, tired of the reiterations of her name in negative synonyms, embraces her own death, like the tumulus dust, pricking my eyes? There my obscurities coexist, each one defining a sand-dune borne out of an obscure reverie.

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