Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Whisps

The final thread,
It pulls, it pulls.
Like glue instead,
So empty, so full,

The length might grow,
The distance expand,
The thread gets thin,
In both our hands.

It's thin,
So thin,
Barely visible.

Microscopic almost,
Within,
Within.

It's gone,
It's gone,
Out of sight.

But life's like that,
You know..

Not always seen,
Just felt as whisps,
Inside,
Inside.

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