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On the sea there were small swells and trade winds carrying us forward to the places immense schools of fish gathered ready to be scooped up into huge trawling nets. Full with the oceanís harvest we started home and screamed with surprise at the storm that capsized and sank our souls. Sunken and old bones decay at the bottom like rotting timbers no longer able to support their own weight. Now there is only the knowledge that of what is now. Forever, eternal hope has exerted her spirit for the last time We lay upon the shore drenched in seaweed and sweat clutching the sands of knowledge and watching them run through our fingers. Bedlam reigns here. Outrage over right, wrong and justice give way to acceptance and the desire never to challenge ourselves that way again. We speak in broken unknown languages of the days when the insanity occurred. In hushed tones and whispers we recount our adventures to those closest to us exhorting a promise of solemn confidence. The unspeakable has happened. We have lived but speak out in soft voice of what can be no more. And now we sit on weather worn porches gazing outward to the sea we will never travel, and rest, remember and sleep.
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