I'm a shadow
Of what I've grown to be,
A metaphor of what I should have been,
A sketch of something never seen
And never felt.

Sharing only the vestiges
Of the dreams
Wanting only to
Somehow be complete.

No measure for success
No meaning
For failure

The hours of my desperation
The quiet ringing in my ears
Beside the deafening roar of silence
In my soul
Alone against the breath
Of summer breeze
My fingers touch the softness
Of the wrinkled flesh
That once lived passion
In my spring and now
Awaits the turning aspen



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