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Versisognanti

The Pain of the Hinges

In the heart of silence, a whisper now mute,
an old clock that time has misplaced,
breaks the air, a calling of boredom and dread,
a death nailed within its slow moment.
Among rusted wheels and traces of eternity,
silence wraps the echo of a story long past,
in the void, its weeping is lost among shadows and desires,
a sovereign time that the past still breathes.

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