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I dreamt you were meant
for Marble Halls,
crystal chandeliers’
candlelit glow.
Effervescence, incarnate,
silver voice ringing
through ceiling vaults, you were.
Or perhaps you were meant
for plaster and oak,
for terra cotta stone.
You dull descend into monotone,
waiting for peach blossoms,
a sinking feeling that
this was never
meant to be your life.
Stave off hunger, worry, rust.
Perhaps you were meant for dust.
--Alicia (2013)
