Imagine a tree, a beautiful tree of memory,
those memories you'd wish to be. 
branches stretching everywhere,
some are fruitful, some are bare. 
an epitaph so profound, as immortal as they come, 
when it sheds its leaves it strums 
with an orchestrated thrum.

I am not that tree.
I am the sadness of a picture that none may recall
I am the coldness of dark shadows upon a weathered wall.

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