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  • Some days you wake up,
    look to the day ahead,
    and something inside you just sighs.

    You look back at yesterday,
    see all the things you've tried,
    and it hits you. You haven't changed a thing.

    You had dreams when you were younger;
    big dreams, small dreams, really doesn't matter.
    But life chipped away at the clay.

    Now the only thing left
    is a faded memory.
    Look back, you can barely remember.

    And if you remembered
    the loss would drag you down
    into an abyss so deep and dark and empty

    you might never escape.
    A black hole of the soul
    bereft of warmth, of hope, of love.

    Your cookie cutter, carbon copy life
    becomes another slice of meaningless
    existence. Forgotten in the swell

    of one more generation, one more layer
    in the sediment of a dying world,
    in orbit 'round a dying sun.

    Where did the passion go?
    Is it hiding in the crevices,
    lost within the shadows,

    wedged beneath the piles
    of superficial chains
    of green and gold,

    beneath the lies
    of greed and ancient gods,
    the patterns forged

    in artificial fences
    created by our hands
    maintained by our complacency.

    When did desire
    turn to avarice,
    when did hope die?

    What are the words
    to stir within our souls
    the longing to be more?

    It's in there, somewhere,
    locked beneath the centuries
    of rote conformity,

    that spark
    once breathed into the clay
    that gave us life;

    that hope
    what was created
    comes full circle

    becoming
    the Creator.
    Breathe in,

    shake off the sigh
    and realize today
    holds promises unseen

    or let the sigh
    become the final breath
    in your soliloquy.

    Fred
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