a tree sways with the movement of the
invisible stuff that makes up the world
it blows past each leaf
individuality is petty at
the tip top of magnificence when
one tiny piece of the whole
rattles
twitches and
flutters
attempting to stay connected
moons wax and wane
suns rise and fall
creating enchanting sunsets
viewed by isolated,
disenfranchised pupils that
pulsate without rhythem and yearn without passion
only to retract empty hands that reach and grasp
without tact or purpose
they draw nothing yet everything
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