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the end of the line for a muse
in a sky full of echoes
I'll drown in the loudness of last lines
losing my sure footedness in clouds
that look like mountains
where tears are nothing but a cycle
to be lost and found
there was a time before I wrote
perhaps I'll arrive at the time after
within all my /used to be's/ I'll list: 'poet'
for I don't compare sunsets to molten glass
nor the wind to ancestral whispers
flowers bloom and die against my blank page
for all the World I'm sure I have nothing to say
biding time whilst I work on an epitaph
I look ahead beyond my lack of scrawl
to a more attentive mark II
thoughts left uncaptured that pass through
empty spaces I'll fill with something else...
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Di11y Da11y
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