The open wounds of yore

Will perhaps heal with time.

The buried memories of yesterdays

Shall only touch you like the winds on the chimes.


The rampant fires of agony

Will perhaps cease to haunt.

The cracks of your soul

Shall be mended by new bonds.


Rusting bridges on shaky tides

Shall collapse one day.

Shards of dreams bygone

Shall lie harmless one day.


Pain is perhaps inevitable,

However, crawling is not.

Should you refuse to stand-up,

Live with what you’ve got.



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