We meet in the middle, awash in light and turmoil.
The clouds cry their side, as I scream mine!
The cool water sits quietly and waits to capture the fallout of our angst.
Hope is my conflicted fist!
I punch a hole in the angry sky to elevate the inner turmoil that defines me; breaks me, enlightens me!
A collective cry we both scream, ‘tis our destiny to wither among the cumulus.
‘Tis our collective destiny.
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