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Click hereEven in death
Time and birth,
Your mystery is benign
Carapaced by your absolute grasp
Of wizened life.
We mourn with tragic confluence
This toil you handed us to bear
Yet you and you alone know
That we are never worthy
Of your love:
Your wanton Passion
Which drives us early
To the egg shelled sand
From whence we sprung out from.
Like the approaching snail
Your shadow looms near
And here we sit
In regressed awe and silence
As we await your second coming.
I'm a sucker for Literary Art and put into a poetic pattern well it was wonderfull.