Passing
You’re nothing but a passing memory…
I reach out, graze my hands along your seams.
Soft, floating, clearly gloating
Of passing power previously deemed.
You are nothing but a passing silence;
The sort that stops one in his tracks.
Wanting the taciturn lineage
to gain whatever he lacks…
You’re nothing but a funny sound
The kind that I shall shut out just so
I do not care about your soul.
Do not grope at my robes or my
Feet as you slip away;
I bid you, as do all, just go.
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