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christian poem

die Dämmerung war apfelgrün
ich schleuderte meine Seele zur Luft wie einem Falkefliegen
Geräusche, die sich bemühen heftig zu zerreißen
ich brenne keinen Duft
schwach-weak-winged Song
jenseits schauen
ich sah ihn einmal vorher
unter dem Erntemond
unter dem Helm des Warriors
hören Sie zum klingenden Meer
es gibt eine Stadt, builded durch keine Hand
dunkel-eyed

 



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