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Rated: E · Poetry · Religious · #1741700
Reality is only a concept.
No Self

Reach into that fire, please,
and grab some for me.

I too, want to be warm.

Who I am now,
and how I was then,

I too, ever-changing.

When did this
turn into that?

I too, am wondering.

Where exactly is
that point in space?

I too, want things.

Is this now?
Or this?

This?

I too, want happiness.

The edge of the cloud beckons
the artist's definition.

I too, an illusion.
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