Lost and Found

January 6, 2012
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From the clouds that suffocate
to the fingers that twist
round my single strand of fate
thin as morning mist.

Is it as simple as this?
words without sense
gracing my lips
a last line of defense.

Or is this a lie?
as history repeats
relentlessly I cry
a horrid act of deceit.

Truth be told
i have not a worry.
for me, that is bold
to not hide or scurry.

The vicious circle lingers.
eternally, it repeats.
players are thinkers,
yet vastly weak.

To end this tale,
of hurt and despair,
my dreams now sail,
no need to beware.

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