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it is strange to part ways
while the storm is still brewing;
look closely,
and the face of the earth
will appear
to be trembling.

time flies
and the predator
always catches
the prey ~
after all,
he is driven
by hunger;
fuel to his needs.

will we be remembered
for our lack of words?
or will we die,
half-buried in the mud
while the predator
feasts
on our twitching bones?

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