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Tuesday, January 3, 2017

The Drop

The sky turns into a blur,
As the wind thrusts him headfirst,
Into a distorted landscape,
That he lays parallel to

His heart hastens to survive,
His mind is whirring
What seems like an aeon
Ends in the blink of an eye

With a jerk he rises,
Bolts out of bed,
To ensure that the wind,
Was a contraption of his head

-Poem Fanatic

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