Marc Aupiais Poetry
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It strains slightly as the world prepares
It breaks your heart 'til none remains,
You die as you live for an eternity of life,
Its sound shatters the soul, its silence is worse,
The Sun, the Moon, they splinter its wrath,
The stars fall below her feet as fate undoes itself,
The Day is sent to chaos, the Night to calm,
a breeze touches the hair,
And the question must be asked:
What of it?
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