Dying

My soul weary inside her rugs of flesh
Wrapping my decaying bones,
Dry of their marrow, drained,
With a fading taste,
Blurry eyes, a faint scent,
Silent to the surrounding,

The forgotten tune of a true sparrow
Where wishes linger in memories
Of how it used to be,
But hungry for the apple of youth,
Watching a love that drifted away
And the moving arms of a wall clock,
Before I rest in an eternal sleep

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