How your eyes have Whitened with moist wisdom
age has forgotten the truths whispered by your once enlarged retinas
with the protective layers down illusionary mechanics have set in
to touch your skin would be like death of the soul that has passed
I will bury it and let it morph into the cocoon that has cracked
and the Precipitation will become the puddle placed at the door
where it welcomes you home for the Sabbath
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Poetry for your heart not for your head.
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