not that long ago...
i would strut myself upon the stage...
in thunderous fury...
in joy...
in rage...
in every color of the human condition...
now i set and thumb through my catalog of memories...
and i find myself wanting...
dusty and stained are the images of my conquests...
images that were once so pure...
in truth...
nothing more than a fallacy to mask my inequity...
her face bears the mark of my impudent need to be more than i am...
smeared by indigence that i piled high...
pushing her down...
in my need to high...
its no wonder now why she hated me...
why she had to leave...
this is her thunder i cannot steal...
and in her grace and forever shining brightly state of death...
i am the shadow now...
the stain and discoloration of a life now spent...
lamenting the wasted moments i should have been something more...
to someone i should have known better...
that i should have knelt to...
when i was proud...
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