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Here is the part where I insists, 
it is not only me. 
We have all taken a part-- 
sorting souls like a deck of cards, 
creating categories of emblems and colors
with identical faces. 
But this insistence changes nothing. 
I cannot sweep my splintered glass 
into a crystalline pattern, 
making something lovely from the wreckage I caused. 
I cannot pretend I never took into my eager hands
the treasure of the human spirit,
breaking it into pieces,
casting it among old wrappers and empty plastic.


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