Cyroverse
Icicle stars shining like the frozen numbers of an arctic clock
Light curls in upon itself movement sleeps under some mysterious smoke
Almost as though words were masks worn and tired of being said
Atoms burst with dreams alive learning how to walk and fly their forms
Assuming place to breathe this air weaving themes sighing tides appear
To rise and wave the meanings away lost broken loose upon a rock
Icicle stars shining like the frozen numbers of an arctic clock
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
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Written on 2020-02-27 at 03:22
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