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From Night To Day The fields, the soil, and grass, stands unchanged as the wind. Are my thoughts equally real? Or, merely spring seedlings in a consuming winter growth? Can it be that I am not really thinking, or that life is only thought? A condition of mind, tied, transient, and tangled? Man’s hunger for greed, the inhumanity of man that spills sweet notions tolerant and understanding, to simply substitute atrocities for sunsets, the loving brush strokes that hide all stains and blemished blood. It was Socrates who sought the truth in mirrors that answered with no more than to wrap his eternal blanket as the branch of life’s lattice that modifies tunes of darkness to songs of light; that transforms the unseen into spotless sight; or, that alters the echoes calling a society sodden in wrong - to rays that radiate the sun’s position to mountains of high noon right. |
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