256 Pages

I look out a window
On the past of yesterday

I see all the pain,
And wisdom and
That of which is yet to play.

I see the suffering
Of those who had already came and went.

And look forward
To a future that only I can paint.

For these eyes
You call so young and pure
You can imagine what they seen.
For one that looks most small and frail
Could be hiding almost anything.

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