I cannot write anymore,
Words are of no avail.
Silence knocks at my door,
A message; charm will prevail.
I fought it with weapons of reason,
With will, I stood my ground.
Yet to deny the real is sure treason,
Pure music in her every sound.
She stumbled on a chair today,
I pursed my lips, watching from afar.
Clenched fists as if to say,
Don’t make my Sun a falling star.
For it is morn to see her smile.
And peace to see her dance.
In every moment, we progress a mile,
Yet constant victims to chance.
…
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