I searched for fragments of a storm
That left me scarred without any face
And passed me by, wilted and broken.

Now I collect my scattered pieces,
Over frost of a never been spring,
And give away to those, who claim,
Their piece in me, but not me.

When I am given away to you,
In grains of chunks and fractions you sought,
What shall remain will you ask,
In remnants of my scarp and shred?
Will you see the thousand lights,
That still glow in my enduring cuts?
Will you look at the thousand frescos,
Those still hold your memory frames?

~S~

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