Dark memories rising; blots against the sky
Messages incoherent only serve to mystify
If it isn’t me who’s drowning, it’s someone else I know
A mess of dying sunflowers commemorated by Van Gogh
I think of Robin Williams and a song by his name
His life a reassurance; his death a counterclaim
And all of us are marching into that great unknown
Our fragile lives a spark doused in acetone
Still I rise each morning; still I sleep at night
Still my body fights with fists and lymphocyte
The end may be enigma wrapped in flimsy
faith
But this crazy life of love has extraordinary
worth
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