An ache persists.
The soul insists.
A hunger.
A thirst,
the longing to find the twist in
the tale.
Answers to rhymes and riddles
where only
dead ends prevail.
Our minds play tricks, giving us
false bubbles of hope.
Until we realise the sweet nectar
we crave will never drip
from our lips.
Nothing grows in a void of silence.
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