have you heard the dying of the voice
have you seen the fading of the light
slowly drawing over all the flowers
of home and hearth and lonely land.
carry me home in my current daze let
me be, let me live my crime. grief
was a child we both learned to love,
a balm for filled out dreams. and
i was an arc across her joyous laugh,
hers a mouth that breathed my life
for kisses we learned to live without.
smiles, that got out of hand.
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