Nothing is sacred in this realm; not even this word ‘sacrilegious’
Though I hold it in high esteem
Turning it over like a blank page
Marking time and scarring the surface
With my digital impressionist paintings
in my minds’ eye
The third one between the Emerald Isle and the olive groves
Branching out towards something more grounded
Is a version of utopia that’ll never meet
The pink skies of an early dawn
Kelly K Green 
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