between ends and means

When tears have sunk into our hearts
And the leopard carts its prey
And the butterflies leave the stomach
And lurk behind the flowers of time
There shall still reside the truth shaped
The forbidden fruit we now share

There shall still be the open doors
Illuminated by a brightened lust
Glancing through the darkness
From its convulated path
These are not words alone
They are not weightless like the quill
It is the song of the potter’s wheel
Mending every broken pieces and
Filaments of our fogotten selves


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