Behold myself,
recognize then many a scene
of memories.
When sweet warmth and beauty
separates not from anguised death
but flow together freely-
and bring forth painful remeberence
But of the glassen eyes,
none of this life is witnessed,
just of foreign windows of mine
in the dust among ancient selves.
'Though it be true,
this heart recalls faint glimpses
of me.
And past,
as it is forever gone,
remains still, completely felt.
From the light of beginning lives,
to the shudder of final breaths.
