I bring a seashell close to my ear,
And it is the ocean that I can hear.
The sound of the rushing seas,
Much more impactful than any disease.The sounds of the ocean bring me comfort,
Contentment,
A kind amendment.The sea is not my own,
And it will never be.
But this little seashell is my own,
It is my sea,
The art of being free.
This shell is mine,
My own,
Little ocean.
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As Time Slows Around Us [Poetry]
PoetryAs complicated as time itself, like the silent conversations with the moon and sun, lie the complexity of the screaming but silent thoughts of the stars. "All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." ...