Thereafter in prints of history

where no word is colossal than its relative meaning

And the apex of man’s stupidity isn’t

as cowardice as earlier envisioned

Dancing on a tamed-pendulum

that weighs to hyperbole

And refracts knowledge to pride




While humanity appears more fallible

leaning more often to degraded ill-traits

Which never sustain a breath’s mile

On an isle where sustenance is divine



Mankind may perish

Unknown accents may obliterate

Unborn generations may die of thirst

And destiny, lost at a toss of a coin

Which the other half is slightly heavier

Certainly the head shall appear after cast

And the tail, prostrate

And humanity may be entrusted

all over again to gather the pieces

To sum up the whole



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