I am the road walking
along my self
having been tired
waiting for passengers
I am the ink flowing
like an ocean
beneath the earth
I am the drop
falling for for years and
has never become a sea
I am the dust
on a poor man's foot
waiting for his idea
to turn a thing a ton
I am the lust
weakening for ages
until this time that souls
won't stop come and be gone
I am the elephant
flying for centuries
waiting for the man
with the whitest tusks
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