So maybe everything
Is crashing down.
One grand and ungraceful
Apocalypse of the

That I am dying before
I die.
Gurgling, craving for one
Joyous breath of living

Maybe it is the shift of
The poles.
The opening of closes
The abating of unnecessary

Where dark greets Dark
And light lives
Where mirrors reflect

Maybe it is the
Great rise from eons
Of madness.
Where walls bow down
As the heart transcends.

The filth
The grime
The hate
The heat
And the empty weakness
Of it all
Are leaving.

Maybe the
Confluence of
What was for what will
Is parting.

Maybe the farthest
Edges have been touched.
Maybe all hands must
Fall down,
Both knees must bend
Maybe the head must lay
In offering

And like the love of
Shams and Rumi

I will Be Born again.
Right from the edges
To the core.


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