Beautiful.
The clouds, slung low in the sky, like a curtain ready to rise on opening night. Deep, pensive blues intermingled with dark, velvety purples, as broad strokes across a new canvass. A hushed intermission as time slowed. Nothing stirred, breathless awaiting. With timid wings, first one, then another, until thousands, millions fill the heavens like shimmering droplets. Some fade, some tear apart, many dissipate into the darkness, And yet a few, vibrant and spirited, climb into immortality - Dreams into realization. |
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Comments 1 to 2 of 2
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