The truth is this cannot be real.
Neither these words or these thoughts
Neither this paper nor this ink.
Nor this finger pointing at the moon,
Faster than you can blink.
You’ve forgotten to speak, about
the dreams that you have,
where there is flight and smiling teeth.
A world of love.
Everyone, everything is complete.
Why would we want to know?
Of something we can't openly show.
Where the you and I dissolve,
in the great symphony,
Always fresh, like the first winter snow.
Don’t ask me, for I’m lost in my self.
A costly production, my mantra.
I will never let go.
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