Lyseachearolt
Lyseachearolt be their name,
twins of the same flesh and
game.
one with legs, one with heart;
be they forced together and
death do them part.
Fixed emotion, stagnant
freewill; machine by nature,
harder to kill.
Worrisome, weary; staggering,
stout; together, one move, one
step, one pout.
Harder to feel, than feel the
floor; with no love, one silent
roar.
Why be here if here is not
there? Happiness won’t come if
there is no share.
Away with this heart, for what
is the gain? Not worth surviving
for only more pain.
Anguish no more with one last
beat, as they both fall to their
feet.
Lyseachearolt be their name,
twins of the same flesh and
game.
But how can you play when you
cannot speak; cannot hear and
cannot seek?
And how could heart feel
without control, while legs
walked with no soul.
Lyseachearolt, without heart,
will never be what one calls art.
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