To ease each task, a weary climb,
A soul's ascent, defying time.
Our home, though tears had never streamed,
Would still be desolate, it seemed.
If hour by hour had not been kept,
Its walls would still have slowly slept.
Desire for death, a river's flow,
To vanish there, where sorrows go.
When pain transcends its mortal guise,
Transformed to cure before our eyes.
How could their touch not heal my plight?
I neither mended, nor took flight.
Let Marys gather, one by one,
To mend the wounds that I have spun.
To heal the hurt, my soul's despair,
Let someone rise, and truly care.
Lost in madness, words I spill,
Lost in madness, against my will.
Though none may grasp, yet someone try,
Though none may grasp, and then comply.
Though none may grasp, and then reply.
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