Lost were the times but found were the hearts : a souvenir of uncertain times.

Solemn is the mission to survive,
But new tragedies brew to tear us while obliging us to grow inside,
It’s the chance or certainty to thrive,

There must not be raving happiness,
We think we must be losing time,
The truth is that ominous blessings ambush when we love to hide,

The clouds might be near with the silver lining,
But the wait is scaring us with golden lines,
Bright will be the colors of this exile

Making us prone to endure more and realize,
That some things come to bring a change be it storms of thorns or,
Mere is an escape with the pouring of thunder and shrines.
-lost were times but found were the hearts

-schone bethal

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