poem. melancholy

it fills you up and drains you
like it used to
yesterday, one year ago today, 10 years from now, a lifetime ago.
Like the memory of the first flower you saw and thought
this is a rose why should I rip it?
This is a rose why should I cherish it?
This is a rose; it has its beauty.
It fills you like this.
With power, and doubt
with beauty and everything you stand against for
But you let it because the power is in the feeling
it always was it always will


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