Crossing
Back and forth
over the barrier
of sleep
to feel
the onset of bliss,
Is there any rest
that restores the untarnished?
In a moment's pause
clear thoughts have their lifetimes
and perish into the deep.
Is there any place
where thought lives:
independent of pain,
unindulgent of flesh?
Poetry
Written by
on 6/7/18
.
Fractals by
tatasz
.1 — "Sleep"
2 — "Colorful"
3 — "Holes"
.
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.
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