'history'

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A light fall breeze passes over the forlorn field, Carrying with in an air of lonesomeness, a desire To restore life into what has been sealed Up for all eternity  
Her roots run so deep holes look down to glare.  Organic drums placed on her hips cause them to fear. But it attracts a friend called rhythm, who is smooth.
The afternoon’s tropical island breeze is Laced with salt and a host of aromas From the bazaar that lines the beaches That holds all the flavours and chromas
Legends of this monster began On May 2, 1933, when somethingCame out of the Loch Ness lake, and this wouldHave Scotland famed forever.
I keep writing all these facts Become Ancient artifact Running laps Staying in place Welcome to the tank Wheels keep spinning Balance like my taste buds Telling the real from artificial
There will be a day When there is nothing to talk about, When no one can stay And one can no longer shout. Then, there will be a time
The atmosphere was stained with the pleasant strings of violin, The aroma of her perfume, melodies intertwining with her mellifluous euphony, Her voluptuous moonlit almonds peering into the depths of my dreams,
Moles of Misfortune By Ben Fitzgerald   Darkness and light all at once, The faces of many and yet few, But who am I to judge our fate.  
You may look at me, But why do you stare? Have I grown two heads, Does this cause you despair? Did some wings just sprout upon my back? Do I look to be crazed, like I'm going to attack?  
Its enthralling to remember something forgotten to learn of something no one wanted to remember because that's how it starts right? People decide their thing is not important
Before I first tasted honeysuckle on my tongue, Before I felt cold, churning seawater brush against my toes, Before I wandered sunlight paths of pine and oak and palmetto, there was you,
Pure white blankets the city Egg shells waiting to be walked on Red coats the street with muzzles to silence anyone who dare to crack
Sickly sweet sweat stains my face, As Specters’ kisses dress my lips, With ghostly fingers my shape they trace, Caressing my cheek, my breasts, my hips.
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