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Soap Box Poets

The Breaks of the Broken
© by Beatriz MP

The alarm clock sounds like ringing,
it´s time to explore the surroundings.
The backpack is full of dreams to achieve
but its weight is as heavy as elusive.
Those fairy tales now look so unfair,
but its part of our history to believe.
Tickets to ride... only in the price tags of a bike.
Gates from different spots in the same city,
are the historical door monuments to visit.
That alarm clock keeps running and singing
until the workers can stop it in the evening.
The flying dust from their noisy engines,
tastes like bitter sugar in a cold tea.
Frozen memories of Iodine in a warm sea.
There is a framed hill in the heart of the city
It´s called the freedom street and it´s up to you.
There is no boredom in the center of the soul.
It´s said that for a break is never too late...
although this can only sound like chocolate.

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