No longer meaning what it once meant
There is a restless emptiness
Where divergence consumes every moment
We are the great trees of this forest
I am but the fabric of this system
A mere extension of the network
A kind of delusion takes hold
A kind of delusion relinquishes
Like the various tides of thought
That come to mind
As the present slips into memory
As reality unfolds in a way beyond language
A familiar solitude grows
Like so many weeds on the side of the highway
Flying past in forgettable succession
On a road divided by so many forks
stretching on into some unforeseen horizon.
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