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streat wear juggling

I ‘m couth in rebels lingering house ,
 speechless by the thrown Absalom
 created as one stammered muse
like ham it bothers me to my word as noises are oppressive and cold harboured ,
 I’ve have a licence of hope , darkened there unleashed captivity ,
the force of mindless strain provokes the sun beamed coloured vice
Like the prophet of keen untitled nova star memory  ,
 that’s how casualty’s run , if you pleas do not harboured this place ,
like sandcastles in prime time knowing ,
we are like physicals basically truth , no where to run ,
 but the faith its’ hounds in the stream of street wear juggling ,
that’s how we found are strength?! I’m I the nanny of an unborn story
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Poetry.com 4.3 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 4 reviews.
Apostle Danyeal Holloway More than 1 year ago
Mark Bell More than 1 year ago
I do like that last line Good read
Ofuonyebi 'Dinobi More than 1 year ago
nice job
Naushaba Perveen Khan More than 1 year ago
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