| Ode to a fading spirit | ||||||||
| I remember when the sound of life was your voice the definition of sustenance was the smell of rice cooking This is me: grasping at a winding path of self discovery the desperation for solace the longing for beginnings. This is you: swirled in a semi-consciousness of an old song the repression of a child long-since found the slow, dismal waves of an ocean once blue. |
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