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May you find truths in the folds and comfort in the creases |
Textures Nostalgia swathed in leather Weaved subtle through soft knits Regrets lost in the ether … and found again in fits Confusion in the syntax In statements, questions framed Such answers raise their drawbacks With fears, christened, named Doubts both named and numbered Cataloguing hopeful finds Charted maps encumbered, with games played out in minds In memories of transit Maiden journeys, first debuts Too clouded, crowded... transmit To transmit, broadcast true Too long in the wilderness Out of practice, out of touch Yearning to be caring less, … and wanting it too much Like cookies snapped on keyboards Decorated by fair hands Pictures burnt, in hard drives stored Lost amidst time's sands The hourglass, it takes it all … sometimes we miss our turn Yet every time that name is called The memories, they burn In phantom legs of journeys, with ghosts long left behind In foreign tongues and turn keys, the social gears bind Crossing paths in shifts of time Hands clumsy, face dull, mute With allergies to natures rhymes, and sneezes left acute With chances sharp, departed, blown Still the soul depends On conversations started, sewn, that never weaved an end Ones we cut from scripts inferred Afraid to take the fall The answers we might not prefer ... preferred to none at all With fabrics textured manifold Truth silenced... regrets stacked Regardless of the lies we're sold, in wool so white... and leather black |