Ribbon of ink, a soul's entrails
Left from the dead, a story tells
A truth, a lie, a sentiment forgotten
A word, a spell, world I am lostin
Incantation from long ago
Bound inside a rhyme I know
World held still with thoughts repeated
World spun on with life unheeded
Mangled mind unraveled with sore eyes
A scholar watches, stricken as he spies
A life lived and then discarded
Poet's words scrawled on empty space
What has a thousand times been said
He writes again for future eyes to trace
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