High Tide


We were easily seen by the stream that lead to our hung over clouds

harmonizing freely in thought with all affectation being dissallowed

We packed like diametrical wolves, basking early in the Sun’s morning rise

preparing our mental surfboards, awaiting gingerly for the next high tide, to rise

We wanted out, away from Real Life in order to retain our real

exiled away, off to Oblivion without the pain of feel

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