Images of Life

Images of Life

How does the world define itself?
How do we carry on through pain?
Can words describe hope's deepest well?
Or do we struggle, write, in vain?

A piece of parchment, ink, a quill.
I close my eyes and take a breath.
Your scent is in my bedroom still,
But every line becomes truth's death.

No poet's wordy sentiment
Can fully capture reason,
As well as images of life:
A drake, a duck, the season.



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