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A Clockwork of the Past
Some say that clouds can curve into a dream,
While resting restless roaming in the air.
'Twas I that walked into this cloudy theme,
That myst of mind and matter moved to share.
For breath breathed in my death life new to wear.
From death to life, a clockwork of the past,
A gift of beauty backwards moving fast,
Changing the colors that the clouds consume.
But nothing mortal never seems to last,
And life ended inside my mother's womb.
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