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In a moment of overwhelming clarity, lucidity,
sensing the indescribable vastness around us,
and the infinities that bookend our existence,
appreciating the endless variety of life on Earth,
the delicate balance of nature, honed by time, shaped
in essential elements, hardened by the crucibles
of fire, then ice, then fire again, afloat on a blue ball
two parts hydrogen, one part oxygen, in orbit
around stars, turned giants to dwarfs, to massive
black holes, billions times greater than our own sun,
how insignificant we are – aren’t we? How alone we are –
aren’t we? Galaxies inside universes grouped into multi-verses
like droplets of water in the great rush of the falls over the edge
of time, to the very end, there where the boundary simply ceases.

And then you witness the fucking depravity of the growing hordes
who dominate the front pages of our newspapers, killing and maiming
and enslaving and destroying and relishing every moment, as if they actually
are relevant beings in the scheme of things, so self important,
so committed to bullshit, so self serving, while at the same time
so manipulated.

They should all rot in hell – and they shall.

Β© Chagall 2015

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