Cold red and opera

Dreams in Young Flourish

I started my dreams across uttered words. I rambled on lost strings with a slight tone of laughter, and a languid touch in turmoil. I scrambled my underestimated self like eggs onto black rings of fire. I turned down the appeal to give up, gave up the intensity of light. I listened to strange music in the moonlight, fearing for a moment the intensity of art, like cold red dropped of an ancient palate onto the crumbles of my life, and warm opera danced upon from the sanity of one’s heart. I am livid with the radiance of night. I must move on, look back and forward all at the same time for my life and yours, for the crevasses that dip the sunlight and the somber sound that invades my memories on a like pink evening. There is nothing smoother than change other than that of fortune, and nothing…

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