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Let the nakedness of spirit
beguile the thunderous
ache of beasts hiding in their places
They won’t care if tears streak the
scars of a thousand splinters
wreaking havoc in the bedraggled
seams of unwritten symphonies

Symphonies you and I were masters of,


In an era of somehow never-ending mysteries
that were awe inducing to the point of
small explosions in the being of oneness
The intertwined desire of unfulfilled, yet
craving fervour
Sweetened with ladlefuls of
unflinching, hopeless, maddening


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