i looked for you with the fines of comfort,
in places where the vines of age has crept in,
and cling themselves at the gates of sunrise.
my mind escapes into a million strands unending,
of consciousness aloft born of bitter doubt
meandering in pages, that have already been turned.
it moves again, in relentless regularity
discarding any plea for a respite in chores.
turning and moving, both deaf and cruel.
linger here, where my heart bravely confides
amongst the dreams where shadows have touched,
the only place where i could hold you in my hand.
in places where the vines of age has crept in,
and cling themselves at the gates of sunrise.
my mind escapes into a million strands unending,
of consciousness aloft born of bitter doubt
meandering in pages, that have already been turned.
it moves again, in relentless regularity
discarding any plea for a respite in chores.
turning and moving, both deaf and cruel.
linger here, where my heart bravely confides
amongst the dreams where shadows have touched,
the only place where i could hold you in my hand.
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