soon it’s soon later.

Timid thoughts quietly approaching the stream,
they fall in the water-coasting beautifully.
Sliding down the gushing waters - carried to the bank.

Stored with thoughts from day to death,
fishermen cast lines - stealing memories;
memories hoping to rest.

Gorging on the captive nutrients;
within the stolen happiness.
Why must they take pleasant sights?
Please, take away those awful nights.

It's unchangeable, the bait won't tempt sorrow;
all joy of yesterday will be fished tomorrow.
Oh fishers, won't you leave this stream -
won't you fish away from me?

And when the fish have been lured,
and the joyous memories devoured by man;
all which remains are the memories suffocating on the sand.
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