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Click hereMinds travel along
myriad threads spun
by mortal query.
Tattered webs
of troubled sleep
coiled around intention
suspend
unintentional truths.
Time wears its mantle
as a beggar
wears his rags
defying the immaterial
even unto death.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 34,000 poems.
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But I like,
"Minds travel along
myriad threads spun
by mortal query."
You have blossomed so well, from those first words you left us.