The Time Ek Stasis

Minsk

Whispered words. these walls breathe the inanity of accusation
And a moment of gifting passes through what once was identity
So that its dispersement surpasses even reciprocity in a movement
Beyond truth and falsity while well worn pillars of objectivity
Collapse as if blown asunder by the blameless pawns of poets
Ecstatically exhuming treasures of forgotten grace.

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