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black poetry

musing, between the sunset and the dark
high-born race
i am in love with high far-seeing places
you are beautiful and faded
at dawn, he said
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
sweet splendor
before the solemn bronze saint
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
better than granite
she was a beauty in the days
are you alive?
i had a dream and i awoke with it

 



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