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fireflies

there’s something here
more than life –
or the mourning of beats
strum
strum
strum
from the depths of becoming
a devil –
a saint
worried anew
o’er things we have lost
tho tied not a fret
to the things we have not
–  ways we let go
or the path walked upon
forgotten the promise
made long ago
prayers rarely granted
by those without sin
to those without measure
for where love
begins

. . .

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