it is gone
peace and love
all of the great
green things
the rush of time
bent outward in an arc
of hope
gone
like so much shredded paper
in the wind of a parade
what’s left is shuffling
some aged calm
some weary complacency
a tired comfort
like a wound closing
finally
exploring the scar
like an old map
long made obsolete
by real knowledge
an old echo of strife
an ancient memory of passion
a distant cry of angst
all faint now
and quiet
like a dog howling across the hills
in the night
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