Spark - 2016/08/15

The wind is cold and heartless,
It blows with an understated passion.
Silence and solace proceeded,
The inevitable sense of crashing.

I smell smoke yet see no fire,
Though I sense violent consumption.
The universe wages endless war,
On every pitiful tiny assumption.

Senses abandoned for they mislead,
I now rely only upon intuition.
Attempting to claim otherwise,
Is nothing short of sedition.

In the unknown we are stranded,
Naked, shivering and deathly afraid.
Is this how we were designed,
Or simply how we shall be unmade?

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