Pearl in a Golden Dream
In the distance, a magic flute softly plays
like the last verse of a lullaby; and how cloudless
is the night. A small breeze captures wisps of hair
as they fall, mixing with tiny tears across raw-ish cheeks.
Nothing is as planned, yet everything has a beginning
somewhere, like the whisper of something rare,
yet never fulfilled. So travel the notes of the flute
overtaken by a restless sea, underneath the image
of a shattered moon;
and if it had not been for an empty sky,
never would I have seen visions of a broken smile;
and if had not been for the taste of salty tears,
never would I have mistaken a painful kiss
for the pearl in a golden dream.
like the last verse of a lullaby; and how cloudless
is the night. A small breeze captures wisps of hair
as they fall, mixing with tiny tears across raw-ish cheeks.
Nothing is as planned, yet everything has a beginning
somewhere, like the whisper of something rare,
yet never fulfilled. So travel the notes of the flute
overtaken by a restless sea, underneath the image
of a shattered moon;
and if it had not been for an empty sky,
never would I have seen visions of a broken smile;
and if had not been for the taste of salty tears,
never would I have mistaken a painful kiss
for the pearl in a golden dream.
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