Muster my strength, after myriads of failed tries,
Wings that flutter for their share of blue skies,
Would my deepest sorrows serve for the bribe?
With a faint memoir of our tryst and the misinterpreted lies,
my yearning eyes longed upon your empathy's prize;
I merely hold the pen, whilst you be the scribe.
My anguish and delinquency were the vigor for your vies,
My penchant adding hues to your evasive disguise;
Like a thunder cloud I pour, like sand you imbibe.
Oftentimes, our actions become what we despise;
Shipwrecked, and deserted, when our braces capsize,
Struggling, so I stood, amidst arsenals of gibe.
The truth lies in what is overlooked by the eyes,
The pageantries of the night lose the splendor in sunrise;
Thence, can you sieve the pain from the continuum of my describe?
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