Deprived of Flight


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I’m tired of days drunk
With the sameness that doesn’t realize
Innovation, experience compressed
Time encapsulated with love

O but are we exiles then
Migrants who must walk mountains
Slumbering in the mire of silences
My blue memories are fading

Like the pure golden statues of youth
That were maybe nothing more than
Projection, silver mooncraft gone
Discovery and identity shaping embarrassments

My mouth dry and caked with dust
My love departed in their early faces
I’m tired of being plundered by experience
As if the rogues of time knew something
I do not know, do not possesses, cannot reach.