an upheaval’s end.

if i still write it is merely a gasp

a moment’s struggle for air

my life’s all contains

in phrases so scattered

i can hardly acknowledge these my own

those whirlwinds that rise

they die too sometime

leaving me restless more and more

to return to my core

here grow a few complaints

rising like unsupported creepers

in a vacuum my heart lies

peacefully ignorant

of the sun or the moon.

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