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Sounds tumble relentless, careless,

Linking hands, shadow shapes against a wall,

Form patterns through a casual sky,

And fall towards my ear.

They twist and vine-like creep,

Take hold within my mind,

As each implores with desperate voice,

A sense of purpose not implied.

With mean intent they rattle through,

Past use and memory,

Clinging fast to definition,

Whilst falling, failing, short of meaning.

With fading mist a clarity,

Reveals itself, masks trickery,

As once again the things you feel,

Lie disparate, disappointed, let down by words.

 

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