A hand that wants to feel the sigh,
comes out empty with nothing but a black hole.
The panting sounds heavy, sounds like a chant.
Heartbeats can be heard but nothing can be seen.
A holocaust appears waiting to get destroyed.
Nada can be felt but cant be destroyed.
All the men are engulfed in the nada,
and the feeling of a common streak fails to console.
The blood and swaet are all the same,
each trickling down the numb face,
evaporating gradually.
The fry leaves fall from the face,
and a new face appears with each changing season.
The old leaf becomes a black hole.
And the hand that wants to feel the sigh,
comes out empty with nothing but a black hole.
ME
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