Silent Cataract

In the silent cataract of memory
Time has journeyed mileages
While cities have been bridged
By longing benedictions of love or indifference or both
Amid moments
In which words weren’t of enough usefulness
As men concentrated, plainly
Not on our fingers but on
The truth of our music
Well, in the silent cataract of memory
Time has really made surprising inroads
That literally keep us in imbalanced checks

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