Simulatlng
Light materializes into forms
From where knows who ,
There is nothing
Only something once was gone, remains
Sifting the lifting fogs of,
A lost, retreating gaze
Falls upon all the wrong ways
Paths may be crossed and crossed off of
Days write themselves it seems as it appears
So mirror sight, so always here,
Blank, uncanny page;
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
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Written on 2024-11-03 at 05:13
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