Obsessed with words
I have dreams on moonless nights,
when violet the skies
with dark complexion.
In some speech,
my words may rhyme,
in lucid dreams I have seen their reflection.
Verses do visit in my sleep,
senseless they are or in forms of perfection.
Just like monuments of saints or priests,
they stand tall with love and affection.
But some are too gloomy and dark,
to wicked minds they bring satisfaction.
In happy memories my bright words dwell,
to heart and mind are forms of attraction.
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