= M u d =

Treading footsteps,

Your voice reckons with the wind,

Complacently challenging the voice of years,

The whisper of age,

The screams of forever.

You beg to differ with immortality,
stabbing wounds into the punctured sky,

A star pocked magnet for emotion,

The remnants of a forgotten pantomime,

With a story dying between the cherry blossom.

And characters untold.

For every voice has reason,

Not every voice has rhyme,

Not like mine,

Not like mine.

The End

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