When this smile fades away and the laughs have disappeared, when running through the fields is done, come the rising sun. When melodies have grown old and fraying at the seams, and when the last drink is gone the memories it seems; to drive away, to stave away a sick and hideous cough. One of the sorts, and kinds that laughs and scoffs at the loss. But you stay strong and you hold on until the very end. When one has seen as much as you they nor can more pretend. Or comprehend the faintest sign of light from within, that dark, dark cave, that whistles in the morn, which you will never run again through the fields of stone. And you will never laugh again or smile with the wind. Because it's gone, because it's done. But two tall strands bend in the breeze gazing at the sun. And there they stay and there they sway each nevermore to see, another day, another dawn together as you see.
February 2, 2011
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