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CCCXIII

March 20, 2014

A dagger, a vein, a dying wish—
a prayer for what the living left.
An eyelash, an end, a fading light,
to vanish, in sighs, to darkness, peace.

A weeping, a cry, a baby born—
in bleeding he lives; for always, dead.
A novel, a truth, a teacher led
to practice, in war, the peaceful end.

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