We bear the burden of impulse and fear,
twin burdens upon our heavy shoulders,
lightened only as our glory flies near
our heads in the wind as the flame smoulders:
Passion and craft are like berries and cream:
a paradox of light and heaviness
that makes new colors, bright as if in dream,
but soft and faded in its creaminess:
But the sea lies behind; the ocean roars
like a furnace of waves, churning out flames
of blue magic; each ripple jumps and pours
itself into itself. Eternal games:
The concept of truth is now so foreign;
to find it seems a most loathsome burden.

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