Maturing Memory
Faces that once
Were crisp in my head,
Now are dull,
And diffused through the crowd.
Poetry
Thresholds of Time
The time of the hour clicks on,
It passes me by, tantalizing me to catch it,
But is untouchable.
Faces that once
Were crisp in my head,
Now are dull,
And diffused through the crowd.
The time of the hour clicks on,
It passes me by, tantalizing me to catch it,
But is untouchable.
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