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'Lamppost' by NewRomantic
The mist had suddenly congealed into a bold orange orb,
A mesmerising form of yielded light,
Dispersed with such precision; and in a manner so delicate,
That it stroked the very soul of those who saw it.
The grey, cold bar from which the beauty hungspoke modestly and without pleasure of its' great gift,
Its' dull metal frame, lankly staring like the bearer of true sorrow.
The path ahead opened with a new ambience,
The enlightening light of days past,
The breath of clouds shining through the air;
That smells like the safety of a dream.
A mesmerising form of yielded light,
Dispersed with such precision; and in a manner so delicate,
That it stroked the very soul of those who saw it.
The grey, cold bar from which the beauty hungspoke modestly and without pleasure of its' great gift,
Its' dull metal frame, lankly staring like the bearer of true sorrow.
The path ahead opened with a new ambience,
The enlightening light of days past,
The breath of clouds shining through the air;
That smells like the safety of a dream.
This was an unplanned photo, a fragment of real life at its most absurd.
A strange rastafarian was preaching something unknown to those who, like myself, could not decipher the language or words as they came gruffly and through a harsh, thick accent. He proceeded to jump and climb up the lamppost and strike a pose, at which point I couldn't help but take a picture, later acknowledging the photo to be a great image of a frame in time which reminded us all something very important about the normality of absurdity and the joy of the surreal and unplanned.
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