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Flux
Everyday another novel is written
From the womb a tragedy is born
Each of our lives
A piece of existential angst
Tossed salad mix of happy and sad
(Some
of us get Caesar)
(Some of us get Chef)
But we all end up the same way
Forgotten dust
In a forgotten space
Homo sapien – cum – self-deification
Will do no good now
When everything is fluctuating away.