Floating through I thoughts
I hear voices walking naked
The shock of emptiness
That the dream ended but half
I still see the face that fate robbed
The weight of salts shading faces
Did we not share places with the Psalmist?
Did the song have to end so soon?
How can clay claim what is virtuous?
I still remember thy zygote voice
The practice every 2pm behind church
The concerts when breaking the silence
The way your fingers stringed the guitar
Your wild hair and childish smile
Your wild imagination
So now I must believe you are dead
But no I refuse
You are not dead
You are now immortal
And somehow I sense you
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