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Shroedinger's Poet
It is a curse
To have a flying soul
And a cinderblock mind
To feel the call of the sky
But to be afraid of heights
I am Schrödinger's cat
Alive and dead
At the same time
Thursday 27th April 2017 12:59 am
Was it all real,
what was said in the night?
Words sound different in the morning.
But isnt the Romantic the one who knows right?
He is the one who sees clearly
that other world moving through us.
Believe the heights, believe the depths;
it is the banality of the middle ground that lies,
not the joy of the morning or the pain of the night.
I must cling to what is ...
Monday 11th July 2016 5:02 am
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