The Hills.

With hand clasp, we run uphill
With each breath expecting
Cold with morning mist
Our hands never leaving.

With the sun rising
Witness of how we began
Promised never to part
The heart is now melting.

The church on the centerfield
Promises made on the stones
Never to part but to make it last
A silent prayer to make us through.

Days passed and stars fades
The promised washed by the wind
Though I still go and I still run
Alone now.

Almost a fading memory
Of how we started
My mind still holds true
The hand clasp, the morning mist, the promises
Now broken.

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