Secrets yield, an endless field.
Nothings found, not a sound.
Lock away, emotions stay.
Lost in mind, lest we find.
Time becomes less, but a bloody mess.
Held with restraint, the divine obligate.
No crushing fate, no bitter hate.
These secrets yield nothing.
Memories beg for something.
First of nine, endless line.
Purity not so divine.
Save whispered words.
For the flightless birds.
And should you pray.
You'll lose your way.
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