as i look at the frozen waves of the seaon canvass by a clever painter
there is always that feeling of anticipating
the falling of things, and thoughts
one, the watcher
or the spectator, though stalled
and cramped for the eventuality of
things that come
somehow feels that things like these
though happen
an icy mind, solid and sharp
piercing more
the bleeding heart
that waiting which you know
shall never come
someone that says tomorrow i shall be with you
and yet by this distance
there is nothing that binds
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