To my memories
A snow fell
Carried by the sweet voice of death
From empty spaces
Plagued with freedom
And something clearer, yet worse.
From the moment I understood it -
That my friend, much like Jesus
Would be crucified
By his own words
From the cosmic cycle
Into our bodies
Creeps the bottomless abyss
And draws life poisoned with dreams
And only the poet
Sees its schemes
And finds eternity
In the moment.
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