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What We Lost

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Atop a rock that sees all mountains and trees
Sits Man, who watches with silence as night turns to day
The smoke of his fire melts into the morning breeze
Then twists and curls and dies in the young sun’s rays.

Now Man walks softly beneath the ancient trees’ shade,
The same dew glistens on every branch and leaf
Only morning sounds break through the silent glade,
A world unmarked by problems, stress, and grief.

The tears that wet the rough cheeks of Man’s young face
Once were the sea that crash and foam beneath him,
The cold gray sea ever pounds the craggy rock face
While quietly Man weeps in happiness at this cliff’s rim.

Where is this paradise to which Man owes his existence?
All gone; for Man has lost it to himself.





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