Fake black ink for the true black heart

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I write this with a fake black ink, but I write it for the true black heart.

Two months for the others,
Five years for us.
Like a slow moving river,
watching every drop
Never to see it again,
We are waiting for the river,
To come to an end.

But I was already doing that,
Long before you came.
Waiting for my river to drain.

Tired and shattered,
My mortal remains.
Lay on the grass,
Next to my omen.

But then out of the blue you came,
Picked me up and healed me again.
But I wanted to be put back,
From when'st I came.

So I fell,
Breaking myself to drain.

But here you still are,
Picking me up again.

A sand clock
Which carried infinity before,
But then someone had broken me.
I remembered her more.

The heart that was in between,
She took it before she soared.
And there was nothing in my core.

You gave me your dark,
Broken it too was,
And for it,
You took paper.
I don't know how you cut.

Like the sudden wind
In a cold summer day,
You came in,
And blew all the sand away.

And I am happy that you did,
For I was getting rather old.
Faded among the sand,
Lost and forgotten hold.

I am here left wondering,
Now that I am fully restored,
There is something missing,
Of which I desire more.

So I need to go,
At least for now I am told.
Even though we became one.
I know I am not whole.

And forgive me for this m'lady,
But the last piece of my soul.
I have to go searching,
On my own, alone.


The Dead Revolutionary

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