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Afterthought

What was it in my dreaming

Seeing

Farewells final; waving hands

Weaving

The motions of black and white film grain meander

The entities of my soul become indicators of my beings

Why so many?

I wonder are broken hearts bleeding

Leaking memories of times we forgot

A broken hourglass our clock

Losing time

And all that I’ve got

The afterthought of what now is not

© The Sad Owl

Categories: poetry

Tagged as:

The Sad Owl

I'm just here. Until I'm not.

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