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the last drop

Kyriakos D. Papadopoulos

Nothing is more genuine than a simple talk.


A blind child who desires some bread, having dreams full of unknown sprights, after founding its eyesight, in sorrow it cried. The magician came into the scene, having a false laughter on his face, the Earth was filled up by the snakes, and the blood sackers stuck on my body. There is a demand of a luminous ray of hope, for a genuine love intensively I search, for sending you a message, worthy of your soul. Will the hate become an arrangement and the humanity a word for a chosen few? The crowd stays in agony, having a knife between its teeth. The sordid friends and the servants of the Wealth are watching up with wild glance, they kill the love. The last love-drop of the whole world is carried by me. I keep it for you.

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