These twigs go bowing down
Laden with a handful of memories.
They bring up to our face
Man’s innate insecurities
And absolute helplessness
By overtly spearheading those
Infinite reasons of fathomless times
That remain buried in the ashes.
The cover (hide) of reason
got almost parched out fast.
Dreams got fed up (bored)
With enough of whoring.
And it was asking upon all beggars
If there was anything“prostitutional”
Left to be performed.
Nobody is found
uttering a word.
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