In the emptiness of borrowed time,
Possessions lent, a subtle crime,
A gallery of absent goods,
A quiet theft in misunderstood hoods.
Silent whispers in the air,
Tales of items lost somewhere,
Lent with trust, a binding thread,
Now severed, lost, or left for dead.
Conversations tinged with ire,
Borrowed moments, fueling fire,
Yet, in the tempest, calm I stay,
My belongings to reclaim, I say.
A dance of words, a fragile trance,
As I inquire and advance,
Through the veils of borrowed claims,
Seeking solace, not the blames.
They deflect, attempt to sway,
In the quarrel's bitter fray,
Yet steadfast, I persist, my plea,
For possessions lost, to set them free.
Broken, used, or profits gained,
Reasons varied, truth constrained,
Not my concern, I gently state,
Return what's mine, the rightful fate.
In the saga of possessions lent,
A battle fought with calm intent,
For in the storm, my claim is clear,
I seek my things, and have no fear.
Thursday, December 21, 2023
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