The Return

There won’t be many cigarettes left,
Not many to burn down
Tears to ashes.
Let the music hang
In there,
Let the strings be the veins, that
Carry all that is left,
Sent back from the ones that
Held it close.
So, when rhythm comes running back
Beating and thumping
You don’t face the love with retreat,
But calmness.
For once it unravels before your eyes,
It ceases to amaze you.

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