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Jan 14
Would that a recollection could expire;
Not in the fuzzled hedgerows of old age,
But here amidst the furrows of a sage
And active mind -- A rustle of attire;
A scent, familiar, quickening desire;
A voice as soft as silence on a stage --
Unbundled straws like kindling to the page
That sets this enigmatic heart afire --
Would that I could entreat vacuity
To bar a thought, to keep it squarely shuttered,
Preventing it from creeping back inside --
The vacant plots might cleanse my memory,
Might numb an ache and leave a mind uncluttered --
The healing of a vast unfeeling void.
Written by
Tryst  Tasmania
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