Even as the graceful jaw of the lioness, hunts the wounded to its gratefull death, for love, so our own fate, with deft claw, reaps our lovers, families, our essence is devoured by the mores of our very lives. But it is no ordinary curse, that we must grow anew, toward the unimagined impossible blue of tomorrows skies, with the only companion sure to join us with the next sunrise: being our memories, and our ordinary verse . |
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