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Matter is a stone-silent voice
where fantasies gather to grieve.
Among them, mine bewails its state,
its imprisonment among the dieties of hatred,
while tears of drunk salinity collect and drain
through sieves and filters of my mind, processions
from more ultimate decisions.

Rebellion seethes between brittle layers of
starkly boiling symmetry. Bulkheads strain
and moan against waves of wrath, eager
to allow them access to a not yet
germinated seed, stigmata sown intrinsically.