What it holds

This feeling is strong
And next second it’s gone
It comes like a feather
Slow and comforting
But nothing like beginning
full of pleasure and honour
As time passes by it is in the corner
Silent and dying to be heard

People come and go
But this feeling stains as a remark
For the self to be taught

It breaks up with the collage of mirror that shows you,
Multiple virtually true

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