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Vastation

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When the world stops cold, it’s final rotation,

I’ll look to you, my last elation.

When the garden has come undone to degradation,

We’re alone together, in the ruins of her creation.

 

I’ll wonder why I stood still for such a long duration.

A sorrowful past filled with loneliness and desolation.

An unheard cry of pain and frustration.

 

You’ll look to me with curious fixation.

Its meaning lost in translation.

You’re holding out your hand, my last liberation.

I take it, in anxious desperation.

 

A once garden paradise vacation of rot and devastation.

Born and torn at the roots of deceit, a faulty foundation.

We’ll warp away from this corrupt and hollow location,

In the blinding, chiming, light, of shimmering salvation.

 

I leave behind a vocation, of prostration and stationary stagnation.

Rejuvenated, reborn, I think in contemplation.

Set free of the past, what a sensation.

A beautiful vastation.