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Rated: E · Poetry · Philosophy · #1651828

My first attempt at poetry it was written on a whim but not without a lack of inspiration.

On nights alone, I embody nihilism,

Observing nothingness, dreaming darkness.

On nights that I fly, in the northern-lights sky,

I'm graceful, but redundant.

But on the night, that I held you,

I was breathless, without question.
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