Realism

Love is an abstract.
Feelings flutter to distract.
Time passes to parts unknown.
Thoughts of another, ego’s grown.

It’s as undefinable as an alien code.
Like a funky beat to a Shakespearean ode.
Or a Rembrandt with a Picasso tone.
In love lines blurred but never alone.

~*~
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Morning Triku #163 ~ Unsightly

~
Insights

The deaf hear no lies.
And the blind see no evil.
But pain’s felt by all.

~
My Grains

Starts with a trickle,
source yet unknown – sneaky are they,
pods bursting when grown.

~
Sour Awakenings

Invisible ink
doesn’t hide the obvious,
inevitably.

~*~
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