What'd you say?
On the face of it
Grave concern for others
For the good
Gives way to
Drive for absolute control
Of the environment
And it's only
An inner ineptitude
To be quiet, alone
Skimming the perfect surface of the inner lake, I turn from observer to inscriber, to the ripples. It’s all in there, all of it. The waiting, the latent heat of recognition and the inevitable cooling in understanding. Everything in between, rising up, settling, dissolving
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