The end is upon as tears are shed to the dusty winds of new tune overtaking existing rhyme and consequence without heed nor thanks for the path once pathed. As the moon sets on time and slow dawn emerges on change, we ache for past, fed only by memories of what was and could have been if they could have just held on to fend off loss of grace. Left to hold on to the little we have, we yearn and hold desperate, other searching hands as the hazed sun turns full light upon the disintegration of being.
Reason for writing:
The loss of something great
Birth sign: Gemini
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