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Sep 2019
Neither are you here nor done
having slipped so quietly into the
great not knowing,
small strands of you still tied to my belly
the rest now illusory

although misleading
might be a better word for something that
draws such compelling lines to an
indefinite space.

If a lifeline holds me here, what do
I call the lines to you?
The paradox is, the death-line holds
me here just as much

Perhaps it binds me so securely to the nothingness
that I am held still,
safe, here, then

A short life, waiting to dissolve to meet you
A greater life, rested in your impression
A happier life, to have known you
only gone because you would be here to begin.
For all those I have loved and lost, but who are never really lost.
Written by
Tim Mansour  Sydney
(Sydney)   
164
     annh, Bogdan Dragos and DivineDao
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