Too many. Those scarce words were too much <br />A sore they were as if calling a rumor <br />From all the air that was exhaled <br />From people everywhere <br />That were born before <br />In time gone long ago <br />And yet to be born <br />But not open to life <br />As life was closed <br />Always to them <br />A key less door <br />It remains so <br />As such <br /> <br />This white or colourless pause <br />With plenty of life to spare <br />A whiff of clouds in the blue <br />Of sitting-here-
