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A Boy Who Touched The Sky

sand and mud splattered on his dud he watches his shoes sinking deeper in pool a stone  at sight he doesn't want  to fight but that seems the only way to keep him cool he thrashes and there goes the stool flying through the sky a story to boast about as birds don't lie the crying soul went dashing  through the door calling foul roaring back  comes a clutter for a boy  the success matters so he gathers his wet shoes and tries to adjust the  stance forgetting the simple fact of he didn't  stand a chance and with a dance or two he runs like a fool towards the old school  with the thought  of ghosts playing dust off while his feet had started to give up rolling  over the grass bed his breath wide spread  a dragon cloud soaring high flew right amidst the floating sky the bird waved him slight  flying to go out of sight he had lost and found his try  beyond the mighty sky while fresh droplets  felt on his face  ended up the chase  rain had  made the dragon cloud to surrender a dr

There's not much

There’s not much for me..
As I could see.
Only the waves that left ashore..
Tides preceded to end it’s roar.
There’s not much for me..
As words felt blank.
Only by the grave to be rest assure..
Tears fled to bend the choir.
There’s not much for me..
But a glance next door..
At the forever friendly lad..
Who said you finally spoke I am glad.
There’s not much for me..
Only madness in store..
To keep breathing insecure..
While gripping on to a stranger feels pure.
There not much for me..
Only a tiny bird that sings in love..
Squeaked by a squirrel..
Get over it you aren’t visible as a dove.
There’s not much for me..
Only drizzles thundering rain clouds..
Distant giggles murmuring doubts..
That instantly might lead myself to fame.
Peeping through holes ..
Akwardly pronouncing my name.
There’s not much for me..
Since that life is gone..
When troubled by the stone..
Aimed it to break the river bone.
There’s not much for me..
A road driving home..
Keys unlocking storms..
Wrestling to open clogged up drains.
There’s not much for me..
Only stars that are somewhere outside.
Too far to catch them anyway..
Figurative forms of defining the milky way.
As night swallow the inside.
There’s not much for me..
But the whole sea..
Staring up to me..
While I embrace my face..
That got ignored for too long.
There’s not much for me..
Now I can’t make believe how..
It’s me who stands and talks..
It’s me who gets up and walks…
Stop pretending to be the shadow that stalks..
There’s a whole lot of me…
When you run into mornings..
While darkness lurks.

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