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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Tuesday, 8 December 2015



Trickles of rain-
cascade over the dark cloud,
soaking placid loose dust-
on a buckled road way.
The rain's benign,
it barely has any rumble in it,
and the chunky clouds,
in tandem float away...

God rustles on cloud,
scattering through them like a paper bin,
making way for beams of hope,
to break through and peer.
The rays akin to portals,
aid descending angles from Heaven,
here to replenish and restore-
all lost hope among all.

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