Carving the Gorge
scrapes of stones
granites my ozone
the molten chunk
solidified and hardened
yet breath of willow
breezes whispers of soul
no longer spilling the spell
but chiseled, are the walls
and the name that lingers
now carved onto the gorge
forever, it will stay there...
Posted by Posted by Ariff Abdullah , on at 20:14 • Labels: amour, hope, L, poem, poet
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