Some where lost,
Could be home
or maybe cross.
My mom said the angel layover between stars,
but my dad says
he was there the fields
harvest amid hopes of ever wasted.
Since the moon is no longer bright,
Where weeds infiltrate shadow.
Even the greeting was no longer hear the noisy block.
If it comes back months,
I'll tie you with a pair of vows and rings,
though your soul will never be able to my hands.
Until actually no longer come.
By; Ramadhan Al fatih
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