The journeyman says - life brings you back to your mistakes,
Fears and forgotten roads are all trodden again.
Life is what you make it out to be. Silly, still, and unamusing.
Interesting is the conflict of your age-old self with the time immemorial.
On a windy morning - I hear the heart mourning,
Wailing in its boxed cage, thumping, clawing, and fading away,
To be heard as the voice of reason while it suffocates,
It's the end of another life that had no right living.
The extraordinaire dreams die of the cliche,
Shoot for the stars is a fabled death when the world torches itself.
All the mistakes of others and you're just a life repeat,
In life, we live the mistakes of the ones that could never see.
Beyond the journey of their short quests and achievements of fate.
I'm just another dot in the voided space - flapping my clipped wings.
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