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The Birth
Of An Ode

The unearthing revelation of desolation


 A spiritual genocide within ourselves 


I examine this dimension 


Slightly touching the ground to fly up again


Birthing an ode to myself


I come back and serve as a mirror 


 Reflecting the presence of the higher and


lower realm


Twisting to the fragrance of the red honeysuckle


Looking through the glass once more


Here i still play in the utopian delusion


Cascades of sentiments will resurface 


As appealing crystallized daydreams

-Diana Cuautle

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