There is one thing persisting
A watcher may be, a frontier to speak.
I found this record, a political present.
A four-tune,
A fortunate sojourn.
Pressed against the page like a window into infinity,
What memory!
I know when these visions start to stylize my eyes
I see stars.
A round surface, bereft of the waves,
Proud purpose.
I don't want to be the headstone
Trade that grave away,
Feet planted into every moment, a solemn camp.
Om Namaste praise in a calm way.
Fortunate and fostered, a missing deity,
Which way has she traveled? Interviewed.
Innervating and a vital structure, with this wisdom
A mountain of secrets opens up in my chest.
Watch Mr. Seeker, I jest in a crowded field
But when does the front page fall again?
Pushed. Or posted.
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