Untitled (April Evenings)

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Poetry

to speak the truth,
and scream atop one’s lungs, and listen –

I choose to play, and get hurt,
knowingly, to believe in things that were nameless still,
to imagine futures in the present

and now, life cards laid out, open handedly,
I must reconcile these images with my current condition

and as I think I pause,
as
the piano resounds in the living room – someone else plays –
a reminder of the subtle beauty of things,
of lovers lost, moments fallen, of pasts

and as we decay, the question remains as to whether pasts or futures
would hurt us further

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