I don't remember when the
journey began,
Following a beacon which seem
to outran,
Hitchhiking myself on a path
unknown,
Memories turned into muted
headstones,
A storm came rushing through
the silence of the night,
Slight hesitance in the desire
to look into the light,
Pregnant with new lightnings
it panned,
I was friends with solitude;
did I need a stranger's hand?
To guide me through unending
labyrinth,
Dropped my reins before hope's
plinth,
I don't need to know how the
journey will end,
The ventriloquist of my soul
will figure the bend...
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