Cast off from what was known
vortex questions of galactic charm
circles in space-time echoes own
lines of being to the center of storms
Looking down from a singularity too far away
matters that ever last surpass to rise
like flowers of forever that live a few days
and yet must die in December’s darkened sky
The Earth in the beginning
from the mind it was conceived
a place, an island dreaming
weary travelers didst time to leave.
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