everything ages,
slowly gives in
to dust, decay and gravity.

gravity,
ever pulling us down,
calling for a return to clay,
weighs our soles.

souls,
long to rise
above the clatter and clutter,
clashes and clouds.

clouds,
heavily ladened,
weep themselves wispily dry.

dry as stale breadcrumbs,
battle-worn from entropic war,
gravity brings me to my knees in the rain
and i live again
under grace.

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