I am in the clouds,
like the wings of an eagle,
but my wings have yet to take flight,
and my heart is in the pacific,
but my mind in the far east,
where I rest with the princess,
the most finest wine of my heart,
in which I wish to give you a cup,
of what's made from the divinest grapes,
your lips could ever taste,
but instead I am stuck here,
alone in this empty space,
as my soul soaks in sorrow,
feeling like a waste,
maybe I just have yet to find my path,
in which my feet shall take,
but many steps I have walked,
have been a mistake,
but the day shall come,
when my soul knows its journey,
and all that is written,
shall just be the past chapters,
and the pen of life,
that writes everyday,
shall write the most beautiful poems,
about the stars that rest in my heart.
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