latest Earth and strong selves,
grafted with sportive grace,
to birth or bury all, except who,
with sputtered wills, still
move themselves to and fro.

This furious world, frail and forward,
by which our minds and hands pervert from hells,
continuing a religious legacy of reaching utmost,
has tamely sat and turned us longstanding,
over such perilous, mass deaths,
each abyss of our deities,
every molten shake of our knowledge.

This planet both paves and perches
broad uncrossables and beaten flats,
deaths to black and heights to blue,
but in all ways shallows our movements,
a will of traits and repercussion.

Strangely, for and by humans,
we grant that duty and death remain,
and as we once pass, climbing or falling each,
some hidden stronghold will find us at last,
lift us from oceanic time.

We are alone in this notion.

About Ray Succre

Ray Succre currently lives on the southern Oregon coast with his wife and baby son. He has been published in Aesthetica, Small Spiral Notebook, and Coconut, as well as in numerous others across as many countries. He tries hard.

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