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So long as hands can write,
I'll persevere in composing songs for you
So that you may retain moisture
In this probable dry desert—
My dear self(the bard).
Answers lie in effort
Questions—in result.
Trust is necessary in guiding
The ink to give meaningful forms
To words written in darkness.
Sleep lasts a while longer during Death
Awakening is an alternating inevitability
Weaving itself—the dream-spider
I see an aged man
Wearing his evening time-machined body,
Walking,
Traipsing upon the jogging track
At a pace which nature observes.

His frame battered,
Pummeled by age's indignation—
Of youth's battle lost.
His mowed grass-like hair showcasing
a white hue patented by age's theme of perseverance.

Beholden to years which he beheld.

His suspenders holding matter elegantly
Despite the invisible mass adhered to his layers excreted by years—matured;
Increasing his gravity
Making him denser, heavier;
Decreeing excess energy.

Yet he obliges with his compromised gait
in the reiterating verbs of motion.
Now, taking twice as much time to complete a revolution,
Taking twice as much
As his yesteryears.

In a witness' capacity, I relay:
Everything is a disciple of change,
But your energy...
Your energy remains as the constant
to the proportionality of age and will.
The vision of your eyes be prejudiced, human;
A ***** eye tastes flavours with veracity—
through blurriness of mind.
Only the uncertain is conveyed;
Certainty needs no medium,
Just as sound does
But silence doesn't.
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