a world of wonder that can be
changed with a little shake.
But holding no control.
The swirls run wild and they are pushed
rather then the route chosen.
A way chosen by the way of the world
not the beholder.
Weeping by the lost of the perfect
world given to us, that became
tainted by the beaten path of the
selfish and foolish.
Bring those hands to a stillness
only one can do, bringing the chaos
to an end. Washing the world
to a peace of snow falling.
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