There is nothing like lonesome life.
From out under the ebon night sky, where shadows play out,
A quiet pulse ignites the dawning day.
The earth turns on, for it is an unbroken thread,
There lives, maybe, life, though dreams have fled.
Mountains grow before they wear away,
And rivers like these carve their destined ways.
Oceans heave, forests sigh,
Yet living dwells; living it cannot die.
In seeds sprouting, roots binding the meaning:
A truth timeless, but rare to its finding:
That every end doth spark a start,
A drumbeat, a heartbeat.
The sun will set, yet rise anew,
Its golden promise breaking through.
Though forms may shift, the core remains,
Through joy, through loss, through love, through pain.
For life transcends the fleeting now,
Unyielding, vast, a solemn vow.
It bends, it twists, it shapes, it grows,
In cycles deep, the cosmos knows.
Unending life, a ceaseless stream,
A waking truth, a whispered dream.
Dust to stars, so we all align,
Eternal sparks of the divine.
The human does not possess a solitary life.


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