Each new day is spent aloof, adrift,
On a moving river of expression;
Through the
waters the pen will sift,
Searching for a
golden confession…
…A perfect
description of beauty,
But what possible
momentary sight
Is more
beautiful, than life?
No allure is seen
more astutely,
Than these mortal
moments of joy and strife.
This finite gold
rush is comprised,
Of more than one
point of view;
When the entire
tessellation is actualized,
The true glorious
splendor shines through.
While sitting on
the river of a subway, the eyes
Stare at the bed
of thousands of unknown faces;
So many stories –
it`s impossible to summarize,
Stemming from
such exotic, different places.
Composed By: A.
D.
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