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Window of an undying question

A window scuttled with dust
wiped a long time ago
Now reeks of a new breath
Twisting winds ravel the forlorn scraps 
managing a row with the bruised edges
It shall take it’s time,
And the master knows this
 
 
dust and wind, dust and wind
The master never knew
that when he shall look 
up and down, up and down
the time will skittle past
to an alley where 
the speed of light is fiduciary 
And the master shall then ask
Himself a question
to which an answer he knows
but shall never confess

 

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