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there’s a mirror
that looks back
with a face
that can’t leave
the sadness
like a habit
that says grace
like a priest
for the losses
you can’t confess
but to the darkness

as long as you’re out there
but still inside me
i can’t let it go
i have to release
the guilt of being free
to find the peace of
the puzzle in me
i can’t see clearly
objectivity escapes me
and they only feel
what they fear
and call it negativity

i hear an unwritten love song
in the breeze
that almost invisibly
touches the cheek
tugs a smile
sometimes it stings
and tears stream
i notice but i don’t
say a thing
unable to create
or destroy
I just live with it
the memories
the possibilities
the open
the ended
the stolen
the mended
on the wing
of what never ceases
some things
aren’t meant to be

assimilate the pain
that encloses
the understanding
of the elusive
things I can’t explain
drink the bitter taste
of the medicine
in the message
without the refrain
a song of silence
like a haunting
of the dead
those still alive
and dying behind their eyes
staring back at me
in my reflection
finding what was taken
after it’s gone
and I’m left
a gypsy of the present

-arya sunyata