Tongue shackled to the moon-
A butterfly with wings clipped
And a bat without hearing;
Nature split and broken
Away from how it was destined-
But still in the dark walks the sun,
Tossing around its nourishment
To a system whose cycle is forgotten;
Time and death an illusion for the soul
Searching for what was once made to be whole,
Not lying in pieces of a tarnished past-
What else is to become of an outcast
Fallen from everything that was once expected,
But peace only found in afterlife?
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