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Illusion - Your WRITES

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The smell of the sun is drifting among the orchids,
A soft breeze is taking broken dreams away;
The threads of her prison have barely been loosened,
They gave her a taste of freedom,

And then made her come back.

She wanted to leave her old flesh and fly,
To come too close to the sun and feel her wings burn;
Instead she saw the cocoon closing upon her.
The naive chrysalis died, suffocating.


Good but sad

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