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Thursday, December 15, 2005


   roundabout
Sit and watch the clock pass,
the hand in the mechanics
sifts like sand through your fingers

memories, photographs on the wall
A museum of dusty artifacts
no longer need it, your position is outdated.

not to recall is to be blindfolded
falling endlessly through dimensions
glimpses of light ike sort eclipses

emotions mean nothing in the circumference
waiting for eternity to end
there is no such thing in this world
we are in a roundabout
a circle of life in time
the pattern is repeated
endless

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