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 Grandeur Of Melancholy

The Division Of Those

Hey, old blacksmith.
I knew your son.
He used to come around,
now he does not; why not?

Hey, old blacksmith.
I knew your daughter.
She used to smile so bright,
why not now; I missed her light?

Oft to another adventure
what is in my corner,
my words travel deep
into what cannot be
changed. A stone
will write itself.

Got real good at 
letting things get
out of hand; without
any involved.

So the year we meet
was too late;
and the years past
was not ours,
so it was easy
come, not easy to go.

But those memories prized
don't do much today.
And those joys might
have been gold but
not right now; seeing
the divide.

Hey friend, when was the last
time we spoke? I let things go
and they got real bad. Why didn't
we address our own errors at
heart.

And this will come
to pass, and the divide
is getting worse; if we
don't channel who
we truly wish to
become. Let it come,
strength forged,
and powered renewed.

Yet the divide gets more vast,
because men will pass,

merely just a reward
for time we will spend
wrong, will the divide greaten?







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