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Might I bask in change or allow it to allude to my existence
For I have no power over it,
nor does it rule me,
though it happens
Yet with foresight or disapproval,
might I provoke its countenance
or grasp its fidelity to chance
It ought to arise from thought,
or the understanding of a particular action,
which turns forth again and again,
leaving one to doubt its forbearance of truth
After all we know of such illusion,
could it be held as firm as belief
without proof of the notion
Might I bask or ask in relation to me
what its significance might be,
or ought I trust
Certainly I never regret
I merely comprehend,
merely
And my faith arises in my own voice
which cries when once is lost
that which had been plentiful
And I might mourn acceptance
to the newly acquired absence,
though question,
has it not to do with fate,
comprehending its indifference
to how I ought to be
Again with foresight my insight is quick
though my wit may be dry,
as is the depth of this nature who chooses
survival over all falsity
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