A moistened tissue,
Crumpled together,
By tears of pain;
Sometimes joy.
It holds secrets untold,
And prophecies prescribed.
It comforts,
And yet it separates.
Amidst the love there is the hatred.
Hatred for that which is right.
Hatred for games concealing fight.
It is uncommon, but gladly welcomed.
A tissue full of promises,
That one can only hope and pray,
That one day, one day,
Will come true.
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