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flower in the gun

When Truth sits opposite of Logic it catches us by surprise-

the world exists in just one speck of stardust,

inside an acorn, the mighty oak breathes.

Ah, we must then, boldly consider

when we flitter and flounder and say,

“I am no one, I don’t even know why I’m here”...

That what we actually mean, what we feel to our bones;

“I am royal, I am ancient,

I know why...”

the idea shakes us,

a gust of wind as we stand unsteadied on rooftops.

We look down and remember, again,

this was all made just for us, and perhaps too,

WE made it ourselves, this blunderbuss!

and we weep and quote Saint John

"the war is over, if you want it"

flower in the gun... at last, we sleep.

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