Time Laments Wasted Moments
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Time is weeping upon rocks in the desert,
For all its precious moments have been stolen.
And they can never be retrieved.
The spectres of time that haunt us
Are merely the shadows of lost meaning.
Can we still create poetic flowers
Out of history's interminable ruins?
Can we resurrect lost symbols?
For the vital sounds of a new language
Are constantly forming in our dreams.
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