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SøułSurvivør Jul 2015
snow
               floes
       on a
vast
crevase
create
      the
            tiny
           brook
bubbling
down          
the                  
high            
meadow
                 through
      wild
flower
     and
             tussock
it merges
with the              
mountain                    
stream            
water clean
               refined
                            burbling on
                     its wending way
through the
soughing pines            
it flows into a        
river which
           goes its lazy way
getting ever wider
on its path unto the sea        
in the mighty ocean the sun      
creates the cloud . which the
       winds take to the mountains to
        make a snow white shroud
the same snows melt
and create
a brook        
the                    
maker                        
of                                
the                
rain
          for
the
entire            
cycle                    
just            
begins
        again


soulsurvivor
(C) 7/5/2015
Nandha K Jul 2020
The sea of faces,
None so real as the others,
Hiding behind these physical faces, are the real ones?
The most beautiful ones may yet be
A mask none the less.
We are masked monsters hiding
Under the empty smiles, hard angers,
Like a vacant soul I wander knowing not
With what to fill the deep crevase
That hails violently asking to be filled
Deep in me like a hungry hyena
That scours around looking for the dead
When many are alive around.

— The End —