all people want for next words to come
to dress up the laments and the disclosures,
to have human touch
without the need to reach,
to be confirmed ongoing
without the sense of a self
as the immediacy of an assumed disclaimer.
can the river of humanness be felt
even if it is socially constructed
as an ongoing bucket brigade?
the nighttime was intended
to be a comforting blanket
for the all of us
in measures of warmth and snuggle.
what happen in the night sky
that got us all to doubt and bicker?
is there a place where no love is lost
that is not held hostage by reminisce?
where the past,
as if there is or was a past,
is not just the composition of backlash
as upsurge returning?
where do we exist
as if unified,
covered in the expanse of complete?
that is where my sense of embrace starts,
where we are the land
of undying spirit,
ever in the refresh,
as breath is the hand in my hand
guiding the all . . .
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