The moving bow
cuts my soul,
as it draws and plucks
on the strings of my soul....
My heart sinks
into a hollow that grows;
tears drop silently
into a well that overflows....
Do I pick up the pieces
and put them together?
or do I lose myself
in the song of my river?
I sit with myself
in a silence that grows,
to trust in that
which feeds my soul...
cuts my soul,
as it draws and plucks
on the strings of my soul....
My heart sinks
into a hollow that grows;
tears drop silently
into a well that overflows....
Do I pick up the pieces
and put them together?
or do I lose myself
in the song of my river?
I sit with myself
in a silence that grows,
to trust in that
which feeds my soul...
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