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Sunday, 9 November 2014

Only syllable...

There was no other route to self destruction, self renewal and self loving 
No other road made of such thorns that pricked and pierced to bleed nothing but love
there was no other sky that was darker 
But in a way that is home to a million stars
A place so deserted and so alive 
Birthplace and explosion of galaxies
and dust that made us 
There was no other thought so bewildering, so exotic, erratic and pious 
The only syllable that echoed through every hark and shout
Every sound of hearts crashing 
Roars that spun out and floated in nothingness
the only word with settled on raw skin 
to burn and calm flesh 
making home in nights of despair 

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