Illusion

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Change, said the man’s wrinkled old limbs.
Age, said the man’s thin, thirsty hair.
Years, said the man’s faulty, shivering hands.
Time, said the man’s gloomy, veteran eyes.
Someone laughed.
A laugh like the trickling of water.
A laugh like the breeze glazing the trees.
A laugh like the nosy hum of the ancient insects.
The wise, unforgiving laugh that pierces all illusion.





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