Seven Years With You

We spent days of two thousand fifty five Like noisy buzzers of poorly formed beehive You built me a storm out of the star’s light When I was asleep after our everyday fight I heard you in my dreams,still trying to thrive Perhaps, it’s you who make the last fifty five After the two thousand days that we survive We died too,again and again on our sullen arms Where we are born again too We pinch and pick, as our souls too naive To keep us from dying again or being alive I do not know how seven years were right But on the two thousand fifty sixth night We realized It is only us that we deprive If we are not born again