We have become painless time
Journeying down the seasons
Warmed by summer’s yellow
Enveloped by easy night
Riffled by languid winds
Touched by the sprinkle of rain
Our winters come together
On this one winter day
We are beginnings fated to middles
Our stories written in riddles
We are painless time
We were born with evenings
To disappear with twilight’s last
We are silent, we are still
And clocks in anguish run past
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1 comment:
... We are beginnings fated to middles
Our stories written in riddles...
tinged with sadness, that. sigh
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