we no longer wear swords(elegant fingers that send imaginable pain)but the spaces between us still resound with the chilling clattering of steel.

what birth begot this gestalt of noisesmilesleisurepain, what chain(forged from the melted gold of antecedent dreams)snakes from the inky dark of faint time to bind us to this argent course?

we no longer wear swords since we imagine ourselves free(given the range of possibilities before us)in our impossible pride. But, ask Icarus(that ever child of all)how sweet the rushingdownwind.

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