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Poetry

FatCat

Maester
The past seems more
In its wake when
Forever meant
The new day.

And lost, now,
Amidst an unknown
Cause loomed here
With unknown cause.

The scribes sent
To dictate what
Has been said to
Describe nothing but

A nearer here than there,
With the future
Polished against
Us there, alone

And the end seems
So abrupt, no time
To make more of less.
And the end is a request.
 

FatCat

Maester
Tomorrow waits for me,
Not begging nor pleading
Upon its arrival
Of my conscious mind
And yet it further
Calls, steadfast, resolute,
Omnipotent in this
New day that is my own;
But the tide of the past
Leaves old worries upon
What could have been, what is.
 

FatCat

Maester
I walked home today,
Neither alone
Or near in that grey
Dreary mist, that
Solidified an
Unknown delay.

Of which no reason
Should I walk more,
Displayed in season,
So frivolous
By nature's demand.

And the cold settled
Deep in the bone,
And my heart nettled,
A desire
Lost in that cruel wind,
Whispering 'alone'.
 
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