Poetic verses manifest,
for there is beauty unattained.
We yearn for distant, lofty skies;
for floating, contemplative clouds,
and souls that overflow the eyes.
Combustive, nameless hankerings
revitalize our sluggish hearts,
prolonging our linguistic cruise.
Forever, we anticipate
precise vocabulary hues.
All we possess is poetry
to hold on to our heavenly
infatuation with the world,
for poetry has always been
the herald of eternity.
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