So I weep, as though my tears could wash away the dust-heap ashes in my heart
There is beauty in the breaking
[so they tell me]
glory comes from ashes
strength comes from weakness
life comes from death
[so they tell me]
In the dying, I find hope
Around the bend, just out of sight,
Reach out my arms and my fingertips brush against it
And then the gossamer strands are gone
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