it's coming
as surely as the world
keeps turning
as certain as the stars
keep breathing
the end
we all face it
if we live long enough
if we make it
from one end to the other
beads on a string
strands of time
weaving us on that
hackneyed loom
we can't escape
but
sometimes
somehow
a bead jumps off the line
clatters to the floor
what happens then
to that bead
that life
that deserter
that liberated
soul?

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