LAST CYCLE © 2008

A small step away from being gestation,

In the past times, almost forgotten,

The blossoming of a flower in perfection,

That dreamed of having beautiful thorns.

It wanted to cause pain to the distracted,

In the gentle touch of an intention,

Making the fingers, so deceived,

Seek truth in the sensation.

To serve, like one fulfilling destiny,

To the ambassadors of dreams and colours,

Even to those who walk, in a divine tone,

But carry within themselves orders and pains.

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