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Colm Mar 2019
My echo
My desire to be heard
Died long ago

In a notebook winding longer than the build before the great crescendo

And I noted in this
As a young man of old
As a conductor of sorts

Not attempting to refire all of the old songs turned cold
No
But rewriting them each for me alone
Indefinitely and until the long silence comes home
Experience allows me to not walk that path. Again and again. And thank God for that.

— The End —