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Mar 2020
You've never really reciprocated all you feel,
Windows on your side fogged from view,
Pictures on panes traced on breaths and dew,
Biting off more than what they can chew.

Faces and places and spaces on trains,
Egg timers draining and waning away,
Surrealist escape for your groundhog Day,
Come wipe the glass clean and ease the pain.

Cry "torment!" and tell in words and rhyme,
Inside we reside and abide to tides,
Of woe and hurt and taunts of time,
Where each sand-second is your hourglass chime.

Of tick and tock around the face,
pained expressions in time and space,
Life and love all encased,
But the hand sweeps across fogged pictures: erased.

Until the old father of time calls your name, endure,
Written by
Beowulf  40
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