Chasing The Light

I surely must be gone this world
such beauty in tangled swirls
no sound, only motion prevalent
a measure of when I lived and when I died
a record, documentation that defines
what is the meaning, is this the promise, my lifeline
if this is all that is, I refuse to ponder, that which is in remiss

maybe if I grab the end of one, I may follow to the beginning
this lifeline a twisted, mangled mess
displayed as testament of guilt
may it be straighten, untangled, as a guide to new life
or, is this indeed, the entangled mess of my life in death


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