Deja Vu
Silence of the weary mind
Is not silence, but despair
Wind is blowing in the night
Then it stops, to let the air
Dressed in white, fall on the ground
Flaring up the coals of yearning
Dark December spreading out
Longer evenings, dimly mornings
Newer virus books a room
In your body cheap hotel
And it feels like déjà vu
Though exactly you can’t tell..
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