The undulation begins anew every second yet has never once begun. It is the never ending aria - We sing. Each on our own, oh how we thrum, yet the instruments we never once get to choose. For this orchestra is conducted by a much-much larger hand. Me. I. Solo We. Fragments and all we sing. Out. Alone... casting our net wide our story strong. Our legacy is not in the having but the being, which is the singing of our very own song... now. And now. And now. We weave the notes of time. Thrum. Thrum. Some sing for one, some sing for some. Some sing for none. Few sing for all. Dear God, gracious God of mine, thank you for singing for all of our souls especially the ones I am too weak to include. X 07/25/2023 © Raena Exe 2023 “Happy are those who dare courageously to defend what they love.” Ovid
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by Exe
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September 2024
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