Dear Piscean

I realize they never settle,

I realize they never look up to the sky,

To find the spirit resting the strings to our nerves,

Rather, they drown and try to seek life in our troubles.

 

But as the inhabitants of the sea,

You and I shall hold the tranquil harp of needs,

For only when the ocean is calm,

They will feel the strings from the moon,

Pulling the existence to paradise from the clay.

 

Arid to their cause, we were blinded,

But always, and often their lucid dreams would tell,

That the souls rest on the verge of the waterfall,

Just like another one from the seas,

Seeking the symphony beyond the terror of deeds.

 

 

 

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