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I find the constant chatter

Too much for a brain to matter

The drumming of old, rusted, battered

Once the contraction of old expires

Did hence the onset of unsecure folly, shatter

We once watched the stars

Pondered their meaning, such simple shapes we fought brilliantly

Least we ever thought, to escape this mangled chatter

Not even to see, nor touch, least gather..

And to the ships, whose sails century’s must, met clear skies with ease

The lighthouse, broken tailwinds hold on, humankind floats upon our rotting seas.

I speak. For those who may agree.