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An empty place for the sake of silence

Goes evacuated for the thoughts to grow

Those furniture which used to moan quiet

How shrieky and noisy it has become

Like a jug of jolly is poured over

Which I used to have filled with joyous memories

Seems as if a flame has blackened it all

Gazing at the vile man across the street

I sense the vibes of the miseries rather sweet

From the aft, to the approaching dawn of my span

Now merry with the quiet sounds

For minor of the life is to be spent

Making peace with the deaf of the empty place

Waking up to that similar darkness

Which in turn is uncertain to grow awake.

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