Waving pools of rustling hands,
In grops of callous hearts,
That fall 'neath waves of sorrow,
With inept and inopportune timing.
A rasping man,
Follows a diamond trail,
Empty but for the ebbs of time,
Those gaps of conflicting peace.
And with all our time,
That seed our seed,
We scurry for mortal dreams,
Not wanting the Lord,
Nor His desire,
To live together,
Eternally.
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