An attempt at finding solace in the sun
was interrupted by a bolt of lightning.
The anguish in my heart tightening,
left me without feet to run.
A fleet toward heaven contended,
to save a bleeding soul of black liquor
at a loss of a voice of vigor.
A shooting star has descended—
it was shining at first, and shimmering.
A beautiful gown of a bleeding light
got hold of this soul, binding tight.
The evil in its eyes—suddenly glimmering.
The spirit in my head was pleading,
“Go before it’s too late.”
I spilled the spirit in my hand and broke fate,
leading my heart back to healing.
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