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Confusion

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It was the last remanent of our struggle.
Our hearts were stitched up.
And our souls wandered bewilderedly.
Our mouths did not speak,
but our eyes cried out.
There was this window into my passion,
only one could see.
A disguise hides our fears,
while we ponder in defeat.
But our weaknesses shine through.
Yet we neglect the strongest of zeal,
and the anguish of grief takes over.
Our imaginations become hopelessly empty
and confusion is our neighbor.





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