Lizarett Flavour

Lizarett's Home

The Story Speaks In You
On The Street
(Merchant of Odes)
Glamored, distracted by noise of realm
Could you still hear the pulse of the calm?
Listen! It's lire... On Multiverse Cross,
Phantom, or messenger, merchant of odes

Gives all-aethereal souls to words, -
And they escape him, in manners of birds,
Raising to clouds, falling on us, -
To sit on the shoulders, on windows and cups.

Memory - to one, a portrait - to the other,
Beauty surrounds the third with no armour.
Harmony florishes, plotted by Gods,
Sweetly intoxicating the fourth.

Force-field of sounds charges and heals...
It never mattered, you're millionth or fifth:
Summoned, disarmed, and, as candle, you're lit, -
Glass-like, we're born to gently be filled, -

Flow merged After with edge of Before,
Stitching the gap to be growing no more.
Left, we awakened... The street was no same.
Peaceful and whole, - to follow new lane.

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