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tales of a weary soul

I would stare consistently and persistently into space.
I'd wonder about alot of things.
I'd feel sad or left behind, I'd wish for a different time space.
I hear the clock ticking.
I see the years rolling.
But of all my heart wants, I see nothing.
I tell myself it's okay, and that everyone has his time and place, and that mine is running it's time's course.

Do you feel the same way too?
Do you watch the flickers of the fire in the distance and wish you were there?
Do you see your lilies sprout but awake to a sepulchral reality?
Is it just I, or are the years slowly fading?

I hear voices from my past.
A beautiful little child tugging my hand.
Telling me all what she's gonna be.
And alas, how magnificent it is!
I look into those deep black eyes.
And slowly, the recognition hits me.
It is no one else but I.
A young reflection of an older being.
An ambience of a present stooge

So sitting now, I wonder.
What did I troth little me I would achieve?
Where did I tell her I would travel?
Who did I tell her I would meet?
And when did I tell her all of these would manifest?
As I look down into those beady eyes staring boldly at me,
I brood if I should tell her,
About all those dreams that became impossible phantasms,
And about all those flairs I allowed to die.

And now, I wish I die too.

                                                by Onoyemeh

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