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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #1620178
A poem by me.
Big booms rarely collide,
Along their destruction with a high tide,
I am told that the severity of my dreams could wipe out a nation,
But, even in the biggest pile of wreckage your face still pulls me in.
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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1620178-The-End