A winter of colorless trees

My heart was a winter of colorless trees
Where Nothing remained unquestioned
But a constant Giving
Of What I so yearned to receive.

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The keen rhythm of islands

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There is silence and there is empty talk.
The keen rhythm of islands.
Disagreeing. Accepting, but quietly,
muttering something else
Into pieces of old messy carpet.
Sometimes you need to be separate,
but you want to be the same,
Imagining yourself forgotten…
Like a shiny keepsake lost
In the rampage of guilt and secrets.
There is hardly laughter.
Only A quiet acceptance of each other,
While good intentions erode away…
Is that what it is?
Our love…nothing,
but a quiet movement Against
the wreckage of time?