Flavours
Mist in the rain,
Yield of sad gloom.
Lines stretch old pains,
Opt death of blooms;
Come to know this,
Art of vain voice;
Lost in a bliss.
Flight of sure noise;
Lift the dead sigh,
Ask for new grime;
Vice knows a high,
Oil chokes cheap chimes;
Use then a noose,
Rush set words loose.
Leon Enriquez
01 October 2014
Singapore
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