in the depths of down,
thoughts without edges have no meaning,
forever shifting in twilight
blurring into echoes and shadows,
time past, and what will be
embrace in a macabre pas de deux,

the future is straw,
beyond the clutch of comprehension,

but there is always the unfathomable mystery of hope,
for as you hold me,
our hope is my seed
sown in the furrow of your womb,

our child,
deja vu,
an echo of truth to remind us
that what once was
will always return

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byrnabokov© 0 comments/ 2901 views/ 0 favorites

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