Now that the minutes are beyond counting
The tears undone, not a requiem chasing
The white of the shroud beginning fraying
The grooves of the epitaph furiously filling
Reducing lives, meanings to unread scrawl
Now in that solace of lonely unbecoming
Unchained free from the grief of forgetting
Now in that oblivion and at last knowing
What began empty, was empty, is empty
now. That is one truth and that is all
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