Tides

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Like the ebb and flow of the rushing tides
Souls pound in a feverish pulsing beat
Arrhythmic
Amorphous
Yet shapeless as they are, they are not without purpose.
A thought, dark and unholy caught along in the undertow of consciousness, reeking of decay as it swirls away, drowns in its own foreboding.
But, it stays buried in its swirling tomb of waters.
There, as the soul begins to shift, that this nearly-tangible malady begins to decompose as determination sets in, and all doubt is erased.
And in this moment is the cause for celebrations marked by fire.
The only ones who know are peaceful and content to watch the sun rise in its simple majesty, a fiery blaze over a watery horizon.





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