Alone in a crowded room
A wave of noise – a wash of words
Reach my shores, the tide
Too late to catch, too late to grasp
Too late for it all to laps
Lips who have long since forgotten meaning
Mimic those who do proceed
A gaping hole, a muted roar
Their hidden meaning, once well known
A pensive stare in sheer despair,
for the sake of emptiness,
Now sought after in all its’ grace.
Frayed and tattered ends, now sown
As one, fall through the fumbling grasp
Of the growing break in time and space.
But no single thought can be
Re-captured, no stray sound un-done
Thank god for the time space continuum
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