One day,

When distant morrows
have been spent by expectancy,
When the ambience of the future
has been choked by predestination,
The world, once anticipated with sweet taste buds wears the rind of sourness, perhaps sweet - sour, overworked by the agile heels of youthful exuberance.
Experience dings the dong of visceral thumps
Bones, work excellently at relaxing
And wisdom locks arms with every vocal march.
Sooner,these lids shall embrace each other in a permanent hug, permitting the mother of all journeys

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