i took those golden moments
for granted,
when the sight of your face was
sunshine warming mine,
and now at the end of an age
you drift,
a whispering specter haunting
everything.
like Odysseus i'd offer blood
to bring you back.
where have you gone?
can i trace this filament back to the
exact moment you became
a ghost?
would i find my own fault there?
oh to turn the hands of time
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