I ran a brisk mile towards my end
burning a lot of time others left banked
They in their coats of ermine and velvetine gloves
I in pelts with decorus bones
These words are declarative
They are emphatic
They are gongs in an abandoned temple
far up on a windswept mountaintop
That is our life
our history
our fate
Look at us
foot steps deeply embedded in clay
worn by the most persistent of elements
but I am a song bird aloft beautiful and free
I risk the sky and predation
for freedom and the moment of being
The rest is traveling the standard inch an hour
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