Reverie

So little left to say,
after all these years of silence.
From silence do we conjure
the dead and the distant.
And unto these spectres
we whisper what we want
to hear ourselves say.

And now are you strange, and alien: a mere husk.
How much more do we intend to suffer thus
before we’re done?

Created: 2020-03-01 Sun 22:54

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