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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2012-02-09 | |
My time is frozen in you,
My tongue is twisted, Canāt say the words, theyāre clogged inside⦠I miss you and I will always love you⦠My muse is gone, am not so much amused, My timing was wrong and ... got bruised. āIn time, your time will be no moreā, you say, Youāve left a lot of sand behind, to mark your way⦠But whatās Time Itself, where does it go? A multitude of grains, in hourglass caught, A way to build a trail, in hearts, sometime ago⦠A dune of splinters of the reality thought. A dream behind the curtains, Iām here, and I am not⦠A āpick-a-booā show, that hasnāt started yet, A story with no endings⦠ā¦And therefore, no regrets. We twist and turn the tale, For something we convene, And leave the deeds as baitsā¦serene, For Time, the thief, the grains, to steal⦠Afraid was I of short comings ahead of us, to be, And left the Time entrapping, Youāve said it: āLet It Beā⦠Oh, Mute, and Deaf, and Blind Iām being, Imagination is whatās left to be⦠A nightmare with no finishings and no regrets, no sorrows, And wake-up in the morning, how many more Tomorrows?
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