Before dust, which lightning struck
the gravitational pull of tide,
a sway you did not trust you would deny
Anything your soul betrayed, a
solemn exchange for illusions, the
comfort you realize more has been uniformed
Surrendered now, the whimper smothered
in an idolatry of things
with which you congratulate your bravery
The luck there was no other necessity required
you would use to convince yourself exactly
whose sacrifice has been greater than the day
You and others equally could mislead, which
might manipulate to serve a quest
then proclaimed holy, and a sacred mess
For what you knew in your charade
you have traded for, those
endless inquiries into what it is to be made
Contrived of that thing lost in methods, even
you do not suspect are true
as long as you can continue in a cold certainty
Of the conjured exotic: how heaven
and earth seem unmeasured now,
by either value or the cherished worth described
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