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Another day of unreality,

What appears, this now long beginning, how long?

Is my desire this road, continuing on or merely contemplating it?

Either sets me in a seemingly and frail world.


I find myself here in thought, lining up words,

Creating, it seems, something of them, of their own fragility.

They reflect my own unsteadiness, a sort of unraveling.

Rather an unrelated undoing accomplished prior to my presence.


Am I left to choose and to choose what?  Is it for me?

Others have come this way.  Perhaps all who love will take this road.

But the road has a non-existing quality.  Is it really there?

What, now left alone, on an apparent road where all merely appears to be?


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