I wonder why things I rendered passed,
would return to haunt me fast.
I don’t understand why the things i want,
are often the things out of hand.
Yet I wonder, can broken pieces still be mend?
if, disfigured face returned its glowing tan?
I wonder if a man fell enough,
that he would cease the finish the run?
I would understand if he cries in silenced muff,
forcing himself to believe: There’s nothing more he want.
But if tomorrow would never come,
This may all be a bad bad punt.
Sad it may be, but this is why life’s fun.
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