They kept their intentions showcased as paper hats, pinwheels & umbrella displays.
They sang a tune of recognition & decay.
Wooden keys to translate the lie.
They made the mistake of whispering the truth in a place that echoed.
It’s to late to hide now.
The ox tale is translucent for all to see.
With the awaking of fall brings the rose to a withered sleep.
I do not think there are words to be spoken in times like these.
As sadness is bilingual, silence after is more understood.
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