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Rated: E · Poetry · Fantasy · #2280048
Thinking about wishes, of grandeur.
Oh, how nice it would
be to be A God, Filthy Rich.
Swipe my hands to rewind.
Raise my fist and erupt an empire.
Have the wind flow after a wave of
direction fingers or thought.
Skim the skies like a fairy tale.
The clouds part; All go to a deeper meaning.
To float and cast spells of
of
(Music crescendos, drums beat)
of havoc. Havoc.
Flames & A Looming Cloud.

Swipe my hands to rewind.
The grass sways slowly.
Then, a tremble of loneliness, a breeze strolls
and sit down.
How the earth is a titan
and I'm a God.
Filthy.
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