Maybe it’s called Tribute.

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collageSitting at the grave of another,

Reading their words,

Not said aloud,

Not whispered either.

 

An ode for the brief time when we were together;

Searching for you,

Nothing as exact, nothing above you either.

 

Traveling so far,

Hearing another church bells ring,

The gauntlet hangs over,

Time changes the music that images bring.

 

Blinding the possibilities with older scenes,

It all comes down to familiarity,

Reborn with you,

Living this life as another me.

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2 thoughts on “Maybe it’s called Tribute.

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