Mind wrapped in a cellophane
Static narrative of the present
Draws voice picked fruits of intellectual purity.
On the outskirts of my perception,
How am I to comprehend
The inevitability of the today
If the tomorrows of the days to come
Devour the pasts that already became.
The vulture of my voiceless thoughts
Reminds me time and again, not to expect,
As expectations surpass, contrary to the passing of time
Which is nothing more as a certain state
Of our ubiquitous iniquities of imagination.
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