Sight

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Oblivious, we stare into the studded abyss, fragmented fractals, blind By death and mesmerized by pleasure.

Some yearn to see their glow, but fashion veils their sight of nova While some train in dogmatic persuasion to be holy soldiers.

We stare at "Starry Night" and praise the artist, unable to picture we Are Van Gogh...

Each breath a stroke of the brush.   

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