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It is what makes us

It is here, on forth right days 
I now know what it is I am to be 
Not knowing tomorrow, but never leaving today 
You stand there, blue eyes, breath taking 
And all I can beg of you, is to stay 

The winters left us bare and cold 
Shelters never inhale our warmth 
Your hands are of my favorite 
And a star shall name us 
But do tell me, my friend 

Where will our sorrows take us? 

An unquestionable intelligence you hold 
A mockery of those who challenge 
And upon a midnight chess board 
You take your queen, hands bound 
But do tell me, my friend 

Where will our sorrows take us? 

The clock may control my intension 
Forgotten moments salvage my memories 
And upon a blank envelope you wrote my name 
Upon a senders will it was received 
What news, what do you pretale of such sadness? 

You envision a knight, those in fairytales 
But, you are but what makes you 
Denial is what you cannot run from 
Please, in pleading I ask you to stop 
I ask you to stay 

Those moments in which we regret 
Are but a stain on our hands 
Nor red, nor green, nor gold will it remain 
For no sin is ever forgotten 
Do not pray to your God 
Do not ask in which you hold no power 

White daisies do prevail an adventure 
One in which you have lost 
You strayed, young friend 
From your pebbled path 
To where? A stream of greed? 
But do tell me, my friend 

Where will our sorrows take us? 

So it is today you ask of me 
“What shall I do with what I have made of me?” 
And it is not an answer with which I can give 
It is an answer in which you must find 
You must find your path 
Pebbled or paved 
Take back who you are, remember 

And in the end it is our sorrows which make us 

Poetry


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