Magic filled the dreams with her songs.
Her voice was the ink of my pen.
Though it was her silent war,
That filled my dreams.
Love war once again filled the new pens.
Her eyebrows danced to the new tones,
To cut the ceaseless oceanic tides.
Her valiant eyes chased the incessant tides.
Even her mysterious silence,
Muttered the poems in my core.
Everything that sprouts out it,
Is hot forever.
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