Sunday, April 13, 2008


She who was gone shall now return.
She who was dead shall now have a rebirth.
I wonder why things, strange things are one way
and one way only and I give myself to endless hours
of thinking.
Why is this rose a rose and not a serpent?
Can the hour return to its minute?
Can the voice penetrate this sudden darkness?
I who was gone will now return.
I who was dead will now rejoice.
Time is a lonely seed,
a flower that withers slowly amidst the season’s anguish.
She who was here is now forgotten.
She who was forgotten is now here.

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