Unbound Travel

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Half a century, I travelled East

Treading pathways; trading

thorns for smiles.

Time was melting in her hands;

Warm, with no fire,

it was burning

and melting, as wax

on blades of grass.

 

His eyes are made of frosted glass,

No light enters, nothing escapes.

 

From your gravestone, I pick flowers:

Flowers harvested for springs to come.

Lamps, dimly afloat in a crimson mist sky.

A quarter of my life transcended North,

then dropped back on swollen grounds.

 

A thousand salt tears, I travelled West!

 

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