Each moment of this realm drenched
in sweet, sorrowful parting.
I opt for the inherent and inevitable
dilemma of serving two masters,
savoring the seductive illusion beyond each gate
of not being a slave to either house.
There exists an intoxicating glamour
where essence meets dust; where essence meets dust,
though insubstantial and tinged with sorrow.
Frantically we grasp and cling,
in the impetuous moment, seemingly, to the only
chance we might ever have for a taste of heaven.
O child of God, weep for this marvelous deception.
Here is the place for tears.
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