Dark vapor, twisted twilight.
Still nightfall - missing moonlight.
Quaint breeze, sluggish, cold.
Sky line- drooping, droll.
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You are only 17 and you are writing like this wonderful work profound beyond your age is 10 a score high enough I ask
'A lord of gold, gowned in white. (Crown of clouds, eyes of light) ' This is so magical, sounds like an incantation. 'Through discarding death's objections- Beauty bears a resurrection.' and this is poetry. Real poetry. My thought that you are only 17 seems somehow irreverent, almost like saying, Mother Teresa was only a nun or Walt Whitman was only a nature lover. LOL