Remnants.
Endless days in a suspended life,
Each passing minute cuts like a knife,
A constant wait to make a connection,
Perhaps a remnant of some affection.
Each passing minute cuts like a knife,
A constant wait to make a connection,
Perhaps a remnant of some affection.
Like an Albatross, the desolation,
Punishment of a lifelong isolation,
Sentence for an unforgivable crime,
The visage is now no more than a mime.
Hours deemed to pass as years do to all,
Awaiting patiently the last call,
A life wasted in regret and pain,
The ninth circle he must eternally sustain.
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