Sometimes life is the tragedy
of a fly, caught in a cobweb -
awaiting its fate.
It's happening again,
a child of summer misplaced
in the dawn of autumn's anguish.
All I want is to smell spring flowers.
My pen struggles to breathe,
in this downfall season of death,
yet the ink pours with the insecurities of rain.
Ten years later, memories remain,
as monotonous...
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