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Growing old.
My head lay abreast the chest of the stream-
its playful bumps and groves all shiny a' gleam.
And I hold the hand of time itself;
we count down together.
My mothers perfume, when I was just a child;
Chest bursting with the shame of my first lie.
The smell of sweat on metal,
the first time in public I cried.
The day I was too week to grasp a knife,
because of the prose of some other.
The moment I found that beauty,
was not riddled on a face,
for it is but a case.
The daydreams that I kindled;
sent my mind to outer space.
The ups and downs, the change of hearts,
all the regrets and all the fumbles;
Has led me here,
to the stream of life,
To collect my final analysis.
My veins are all burst and my body all beaten,
every nook and cranny bruised.
As the sun has arisen, the sun has set to give life anew.
And if you asked me if I could reset it,
begin again if I dared,
I would decline, my friend, for this is my end, yet its been a good run, inevitable.
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