To hold that incarnation he had become
Ideas of my world had been undone
To shift into more than that of my past
To exist in places I felt him last
Many stories to tell, when as yet are none
Beautiful heartbeat of my only son
ILLUSION takes them in,
The tears of soft decaying skin
Consumed, I remain dry eyed
Wanting within a craze to be heard that I'd tried.
-Isha
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