Monday, 8 June 2020

He's opposites

He's opposites, the contrary
Pure sweetness, my cure and
my addiction.
Alike Friday, with sheer joy
and the oblivion.

I'm happiness but still with
broken parts.
His global splendor,
hydrating all my parch.
There's been some toil in
travels, yet rose petals in my

The EƤrendil's star, he's
brilliance in light and dark.
His here strings me out, with
violins and harps.
Each moment written, with
red quills dipped in heart.

Once we had Rawls principle,
it echoes on us still.
Like forgotten raindrops on
the windowsill .
Songs are near harmonic,
almost, nearly.

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