Infinitesimally, I make my mark…

 It is within these quiet ink blots, I reside –
A phantom, for all purposes, on the pages left to dry.

I am the moments within the making mind,
The love that is unmade, undefined
Although, truth be paid,
No son am I of a past to find.

One here, in future,
Might find the makings of a Life.

The End

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