A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.


I remember this bright star,
Whose light bestows my liberty,
Banishing afar,
Those shadows of desire,
For this itself is my fire,
Its warm flame of fullness,
Only felt,
Through this crack in time,
An axis for heaven or hell in turn,
Where burns the lustre of idle dreams,
To ash and wholesome plenitude.

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