We fear the rising of the tide
like footprints in the sand,
that final wave indisputable,
that door openable only once,
begging time to fossilize
the trail behind, to remember,
to extinguish only from body
but never from memory
the song our blood sings
in ancient tongues eclectic,
majestic yet opportunistic,
the chorus and reverb distinct
among the cacophonous day,
an orchestra played anew
within every note and silence
if only we had the ears to hear.
(dtn)
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