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Literature
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After mine is done,
I will descend into the sun.
I will become the smallest thing,
and yet the loudest voice that sings.
A Hymn of one.
Between my start and end,
form and function I trancend.
peaceful moments far too brief,
faith masquerading as belief.
It lives to mend.
Before my time began,
there was so little to demand.
then nothing was perfection,
in it's beauty, no deception.
but soon came man.....
