Pouring through the window panes,
the light that doth eb and flow
into caloused hands,
across that deep emptiness;
Secrets of moments past hidden inside
an effulgent glow.
That long lost empty stretch of time;
witnessed and comprehended,
the winding path lays behind me;
unfurls and bends before me;
Into shadowed silluoettes in the distance.
They call out through the emptiness,
its enchanting melody,
telling me of that great mystery.
distortions of the mind.
These falible perceptions,
in a world of unknowns;
a world that can never be shown;
with these hardened hands,
this inferior mind;
Perhaps with time.
that are nothing,
yet somehow they are me;
so what am I?
am I something?
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