Heretofore
The life, the lies, the heavenplace
In which we sole survive
Contain a bit of shame as well
As tiny beads of sweat.
There isn't much else to say
That hasn't already been heard.
Yet I hold you to each fashioning
Each posting; every word.
Do I dare hold open doors of genius
Only empires will abound.
Each time the art can hold its own
The world is homeward bound.
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