The reign, feeble.
In the sequence of blossoming.
Greed that makes us the great athletes in this marathon
of consumption and struggle, it's desired.
The sky, ethereal.
Observing life above this storm,
would this make God an artist to the frame
of love and spontaneous? It's benevolent.
When we are just,
My grievance stems from the rubbish finding that my life is temporal
gazing the flow of the pool in the river is only mortal and changing,
as am I.
Tunneling to the cosmos
modest and collective.
Whatever grace may resonate
from the truth,
I have to meet you.
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