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Poetry: Meditations


They tend to the tide of the ever-changing landscapes.


This fragile balance.


Those few

who upon waking

carry themselves to the soul of the world.


Where,

they sit

and sift

and surrender.


Their eyes sting in the darkness,

and yet,

they wait.


Because this is a time,

where it no longer exists.


And they are able to see,

branching forth,

in infinite connection: How it is behind every act of profound kindness,

stalks an unending sadness.



-d.j.k.

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