In A Foreign Land

Originally posted on Thoughts Of A Nyctophilliac:
Unknown city Unknown place Time moves fast At an unknown pace. White rooms Have slanting roofs Tall towers To look over what’s ours. Leaves turn brown The rain comes down The old stone still stands Pride and honour of this land. The night never sleeps Streets never end…

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He is a writer With words bleeding from his fingers With storms raging in his mind In the calm of the night. He’s got demons chasing him In the day and in the night When nightmares clog his eyes He might as well write. How should I bear it? He asks with all his might […]

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