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March 31, 2019


How strange it is
To slowly see one turn into everything
Someone ever wants.
Careful with the word “everything”.
Ranges from your unevenly bitten finger-nails
To your most prized possession;
Is it a set of stolen marbles?
Not-so-stolen money? 
Do you even have any, honey?
From the dog-eared page
Of some old novel, you’d once read
And carelessly tossed into a box, forgotten
To your most treasured moments –
When you felt infinite in life so timed
In time so finite –
Moments you choose not to talk about.
Everything starts from the black of your eye,
From the mole beside your smile
Ending in the dark of night,
Maybe in someone’s glass of rye.
How strange it is
To know you mean someone’s everything
When everything comprises
Of the dust and the stars,
Peace and war,
You and I, reclined in some couch of a bar.
Howdy? this is Rong Lin and it's my first post out here.
 I am an almost-a-monthly-kind-of blogger on WordPress, with just a couple of friends as my earnest readers. 
This poem is one of those works that makes the writer (or the poet) really satisfied, you know? 
Oh, and hey, this is the link to my blog, and you can go and check my works there, anytime you want. Hope you like them, buddy.


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  • March 31, 2019 - 9:29am (Now Viewing)

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