It will pass, the anguish of decay,
drift like wisps of clinging hope,
spiral alongside dreams, carried beyond realms,
where it dies so another can be born.
Yet, dense color remains, an easing balm,
a remembrance; soothing the soul,
here for a time and half a time,
until another emerges in birth.
Silky bright newness, exotic to the touch,
diligently sheltering realisation from sun's heat,
like aspirations of life when kissed by morn's dew,
releasing forgotten loves, higher... higher.
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