And me, standing under the splintered night, catching fractured glimpses into the black behind the black, hearing the prayers of stars, the angry whispers of the dark summer night.Its voice cracks,on your name.My eyes close,on your name.
Love is a great poet its resources are inexhaustible but if the end it has in view is not obtained it feels weary and remains silent.
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Love is a great poet its resources are inexhaustible but if the end it has in view is not obtained it feels weary and remains silent.
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