NurWilmy Francis Poems

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1.
An End In The Beginning. A Taste For Everything.

Of those wishful thoughts or hopes never will come true. To think that believing in something too intense and focused could be a probability to achieving that without fail; it’s just that we humans are walking on a platform of blank information. The things or compendiums that we need to know will never we ever get into our attentions. Only desired needs are being compensate. Nothing of which is germane to us, to survive in this sphere of vanity and greed and even so much more we take into consideration. Till when the stars starts to burn out and fall onto the earth, the skies breaks apart and the ambient silence, then we scream our lungs out.

Before my eyes, I see little knowledge of patience stained on them.
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2.
A Tale To Whom It Usually Concerns.

This epilogue could be or is it the uttermost complex and vile.....
So far yet by the side, so bold yet too beautiful to be wasted.....
And if I could hull here a little longer just to be the breath of your life, I would be.....
The vouchsafed that I felt in this was you and I, we both did time and fate.....
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3.
Wherefore I Stay And Pretend

an epilogue, a chapter, a paragraph a phrase..
all adds up to forming a contemporary story to be comprehended.
affections of yours to that the other is still there,
deep down in your thoughts.
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4.
My Everyday Nights; Nocturnal

Buried between the concrete and the pillows that my head rests.
Pitch black volumes that i i see trying to figure out figures, straining so much and ever but worn out too easily.
Never being entertained by anything else in the hours of witches and wizards that's filling up cauldrons with tooth's and nails and of those scrapped skins.
Breaking a sweat and breaking a habit never that easy to comply; irony spills onto the floor of papers, inked with promises and mesmerizing phrases.
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5.
Every Single Sound I Listen To; Patience.

Asphyxiated with filthy airs and warmth.
Not knowing and unable to recognize freshness no longer.
Every single day and night..
Smothered by pungent consisting filth and warmth.
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6.
The Pastor. The Gates. The Crucifix

Vines, shady ambers, dark alley.
There i stood and is all i see from the porch.
Seems abandoned but occupied.
An old church my resting place for now.
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