Divine Airs. Of Course, There's A Lot Of Wondrous Room.
Time Is Immaterial. Something Only Pleasant.
Might, Almighty Might, Is All About. Invisible Yet Ever Present.
Constant Cycles Of Miracles So Sweet Make Up The Playful Atmosphere Of This Play Place Of Angels.
Wings Of White, Wings Of Gold, Wings Of Purple, Wings Of Pink.
Wink Of A Cute & Perfect Sibling While Winning Yet Another Game.
Home: These Miraculous Clouds Made Of Miracles & Blessings.
Strings Of Enchanted Harps Ever Play The Most Beautiful Music.
Quick I Am, While Again, From Cloud 7 To Cloud 9.
- Authors: Broken Ankh (Pseudonym)
- Visible: All lines
- Finished: February 17th, 2023 14:00
- Limit: 15 stanzas
- Invited: Public (any user can participate)
- Comment from author about the poem: Please, Just Let Your Electric Inks Flow Freely, Fellow Poets. Have Fun.
- Category: Fantasy
- Views: 6
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