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The Stream and the Sleeper


The stream slithers past my face and across the edge before hissing in its departure
but before it slinks away, whispers of days it once knew seep into my ears
They went like this:

I was birthed high on the bright mountain side in the light of the shining sire
I played with my mates in the acres of grass and wheat between here and forever
before turning underground, shunning what was above and hugging the stone below my stomach
the moon now low, I took a looser form; hollow, shallow, callous

Even the wild will be tamed
and the strong will turn weak
and the young will grow old
before the eyes of time

I breech from my slumber, breathe in the deep living air that I craved for so long
and dip my face into the stream
drinking from it endlessly

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