Broken winds from the slow hand of God
lifts the waves ever moving surging towards
some crystalline shore.
The evolution of change, moving forward
toward the end, the scaling of old skin, leaving
only a shadow of the imperfection of life.
New, newer, seasons never turning back,
blooming into tomorrow, searching in a colored
cloud of being.
Enlightening the darkness, alone, unafraid;
stained by time; it is time to be free, in truth it is
time to take root in the now.
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