The coarse swirl
of the world’s complacency
stills the eager mind.
Footprints of the vagabonds,
drunk in their dreams of escape,
Hint at the authenticity of the journey.
Heaven must surely reign
outside of this storm,
a god merely waiting to exist for it.
The darkness of the sunset
against an endless purity
calls every lover’s fair name.
The chills of the soul,
those tried and true pessimisms,
will bury us forever.
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