The roses that grow in the snow
Still stream of petals when blown
What’s real and what’s not
Pondering is a waste of thought
Every corner and every turn
A curve ball thrown and a mind that burnt
A myriad in the sky and a myriad in my ears
Left on the galaxy’s edge the load is full of ire
Come hell or highwater in this desert
Change will be here to wash away this hurt
Should I write 
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