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Contemplative

Poetry By: emilyjuck
Poetry



Decipher it how you will.


Submitted:Jul 11, 2007    Reads: 110    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


Entirety�is finished.

I've lived it all, or what ever is of worth.

By seventeen there will be nothing left.

Youth is the first and final stretch of this aimless race.

Aging; also known as the�prematurity of afterlife.

Sixty years of blurred memories await you.

You can't remember anything in the end.

So cease, surrender, retire, why not?

Because of all those precious strings,

Those treasured attachments,

Pieces of everything,

There's always one reason to wake up tomorrow.





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