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How sweet battlefield of breeze

How sweet battlefield of breeze
Throws patterns against a white-washed sky,
With speck’d splatterings of grey-blood
Leading mind to wander in thought
Of life, slow-crawled to march o’er globe.

In contrast, wet green of Arbor leads me stay
To fight Gravity and her many anchors here.

Life is but a monumental painting, where brushes care not of color, but carry them relentlessly.

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musings & scribbles