If there is but life in the solid silence of fallen mountains,
in the rush and rage of pools meeting fountains.
The stagnancy of this movement, the constant roar,
the silence envelopes the strength of peace.
Peace.
Is it peace or is it the end?
An endless circle, the particle process, the advance of the cyclical climax of thought...
Or lack there of.
But who really cares?
The senseless masses breathe in the deep breaths of sunlight and shadow,
hills and meadow.
Shale and sleet and bread and meat.
But the fallen of mountains rest quiet by the fountains.
And the children of the senseless find treasures.
Mmmmmmm that's some cake right there.
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