the remnants fall
like guided beacons
left
on an unarmed shelf
for some other dream
to light the way
hope is nearby
surrounded by dust
waiting to be polished
new
performed
practised
perfected
the soldered remnants
form
into pools of sleep
lost in the residual dreams
of a laboured mind
gone are the wistful
gone are the innocent hands
to hold
here
the truth is born
the truth of old
it is the knowing of heart
for it is the only kingdom
that i fall upon
to pray
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