ends of beginnings
Maybe, the one who listens already deafens,
Maybe, the ticking of the clock already ends,
in the place where the sun doesn’t shine nor sets,
when there’s no tomorrow,
just now and always.
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a hand to a pen, and ends, and beginnings
Maybe, the one who listens already deafens,
Maybe, the ticking of the clock already ends,
in the place where the sun doesn’t shine nor sets,
when there’s no tomorrow,
just now and always.