English Poetry <My thought>


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It’s time to pack up the greedy lips of a piece of leaf

That you can see a shadow swallows down the strife

And the movement of somehow you pore on

Has given me a revision of the voyeuristic style of life

The chair has hidden its anxiety

Of being missed in the mind of yesterday

Somewhere has got the most memories over the land

As every man stands on the rock nearby sea

The Stone Age’s breath stops at the end of a beach,

Where the mews throw away their feathers in a ranch

Growing up by the hand of the wind from Siberia

And die in the following seconds that can give the sun

A match

It moves onto the next land where we have no sight to see

And there is a gloomy weather waiting

Just thinking about the tone of moonlight’s color

You need to take out a clarion

To tell this listless place through making up a dumb scene

Maybe, it can be from the pocket of those lost worlds

On the rear metope

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