vintage nights

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When the beat of the dulcet rose quartz drum pirouettes around me. I let the rendamency of the rhythm spread peace of mind throughout me. My body opens like the goddess of mortality, yearning to create polished amethyst into an eunoia of immortality.

The cadency follows down my sun kissed russet skin, that possess a history of change. All the way down to my feet
which step in mother nature's clay tears.
That buries secrets no one has yet to reveal, but it's secrets that we know.

So we dance to let the embryo of our reasoning be heard. A cry so loud eagles are put to shame. We dance to show we are one with the earth and the universe.
With every sibyline outstretched limb,
shares a story past the turquoise sea.

That  glistens from our energy provider.
That same sea that was the course for loathsome thieves, with hungry minds and empty spirits. The countless days and nights that we were stripped of our elan honey rose culture.That's shown in our changed tongue.

For our way of life was condemned savage by onlookers who were trying to craft a nation of industrialization. From a nation of fluorescent aesthete. We were put on this Earth to share the love
painted by the ivory doves. Whose love song creates a temple of serenity.

Yet it only took a bourbon ship, to obliterate it all. Our scintilla hips lined in amaryllis and gold sways how a sea salt breeze would on an early morning Sunday at daybreak.

We outstretch our arms to show the pastel water color horizon. That shades us away from evil. Our torsos move with tristful elegance, like lush green palm trees
that hold the coconuts and papayas we use as natural remedies.

We dance with melancholic moonlight faces. This is our land filled with valleys of Cassiopeias. This is our culture who's artist speak in soignés painted in a garden of lotus silk. You may look and see, but we will not be deceived by your foul tongue engrossed with words twisted in vain.

This land is ours. You cannot take what has already been discovered

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