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My days are lost in a tempest. Tumbled through gales & away. I wait for the calm of the eye & the dusk light to sooth the world while the winds batter my time. Eroding the minutes into dust.
But is my life the grains tossed to the sky, or is it the rock left still? The shape smoothed and stories rent through it speak more to what came.
The storm still rages though. I'll leave the question for someone else to answer.

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