Portrait Of PureA Poem by SyN
During the twelve o'clock precisely.
Hot wind, dry and lazy. Stone houses, lined mute. The long road, dusty and deserted. At the end of the dead trees sunburned. © 2016 SyN
Author's Note
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Added on February 14, 2016 Last Updated on February 17, 2016 AuthorSyNA place where' you belongAboutAbout me? I was myself, and not anyone. Such as think' randomly. Simple, calm, serious, forgotten, exiled, sometimes strange. Favorite Music : Metal. more..Writing
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