Tuesday, June 6, 2017


I am the power in a singer's voice
That echoes in packed auditoriums

I am the mother's shrieks
Who cries over her child's corpse

I am the glimpses of eerie things, hours after watching a thriller

I am the cold shower on a winter day
And the warm touch of passion, they say

I am in a story well told
In a mystery unfold.

I am often called "the chill"
As I come and go at will.

I am the sign of being alive
I am both adult and naive.

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