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Singularity
Canvas over the thinnest bones
Of that which used to be
Carries tales of preening tongues
That claim to have known me.
No hard feelings, stories old,
And names, no offence meant!
History repeats, for destiny,
Is cruelly, again, dealt.
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There's something beautiful about small poems. Something... matter-of-fact and peaceful, I think.
Singularity
Canvas over the thinnest bones
Of that which used to be
Carries tales of preening tongues
That claim to have known me.
No hard feelings, stories old,
And names, no offence meant!
History repeats, for destiny,
Is cruelly, again, dealt.
=================================
There's something beautiful about small poems. Something... matter-of-fact and peaceful, I think.
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