I thought there was something that I should remember. Something precious I should hold dear. I thought there was a person, who should never leave from here.
If there was such a thing, something I can’t recall, could it really be so bad, if from my memory I let it fall.
Is it something dangerous, that I should fear deep down. Or is it something else entirely, that I should let blossom on the ground.
Is it something that would die, if it left this place. Or is it something prison bound, that wants to get away.
Should I leave this dreamlike state, and risk not knowing in the end, or should I stay here all my days, trying to remember then.
I should not go, I should not stay. I should not hide, I should not pray.
Oh what, Oh what, Oh what should I do. I do not remember, do you?
Poetry is different from fiction. It has its own way of inspiring and moving people that fiction alone cannot accomplish.
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