This might be the case.
The echoes back,
the candles for illumination.
Thoughts wandering an hour ahead
happy in its silence
leading into nothing
but further silence.
All these years;
like a bottle a wine to open?
A cold emptiness.
Why this horse is not into line with the others?
Perhaps it's freezing out there with them.
The pause was an abstract not knowing what to do with that
which came out from the path.
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