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The Perishing Soul

Who has had his secret in the perishing soul?
Offering peace to the straightforward man is secretive,
I utter knowledge to the heart of the origins of men.
Why do you search for him in the dust and yellow ocean?
It is indeed slippery dutifully, it is striking a voice of noise,
With a lofty truth, a reclining belief, an independent sound.

Upon the lips an utterance forms, forcing the waves of saviours,
Seeing for yourself, like a blind hard beggar, like a fallacious mover.
The park I have visited is absent from the head and heart,

Precautions believe in themselves, hazards are matters of the flesh.
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Wednesday, August 14, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: soul
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