Others Poetry Thoughts

Figments

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I think, 
We are mere fragments,
Of an imagination,
Which is distorted.

.
Suffice to let go,
Of the constraints,
That bind us,
And make us.

.
Impregnated with,
The subtlety,
Of our fibre,
So much so.

.
We start losing,
Our wit,
Our humor,
Our existence,
Our being.

.
The way out,
Is yet again.

.
That imagination
Which was
Which is
Which will be
Quintessentially ours
Forever…!

Daily Journal -An Odyssey
Burial

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