Cold and frozen from a time once moving,
placid in the array of darkness where I once
rippled in Time.
Here and from this space with 12 struck at hand,
I sense in the later view a concept of chaos
inherited to be mine.
Flight response cruel in echo's of dismay,
Warrant the extraction of misuse to navigate
the obtuse into a into a parallel state.
With passes past the last point of known truths,
Still in my presence and essence of response,
I let go the abstract to discover fate.
Poem by Kia Marie McCrary
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