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Cataclysm

How frail the mind becomes
when it must accept,
it cannot control their voices.
 
It is I,
who release and
relinquish these binds.
The veil of their
cumbrance, evermore removed.
 
The hourglass is fleeting
as I stand aside it watching,
waiting for the light of the sun.
 
The structure has been rebuilt.
We stand on the first plank
looking onward,
hoping it survives the storm.
Other works by Chaz Allen...



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