It is not the spirit that abandons,
All things flesh are, by their own nature, weak.
It is useless to torture the psyche
for some remedy. No magic voice or
verse, no false tears, no witch’s evil curse
can cure such eternal malady.

That which was beautiful, now battle scarred
and rent, the tatters flutter in the wind,
It is not the spirit that abandons,
There is some dark power within the beast
that demands its reckoning. Torrential
hammering rains its blows and bruises.

It is not the spirit that abandons.
In the dizziness of lost perception,
when the rocking sea becomes emotion,
there is a brief impulse to throw caution
to the winds, to embrace the heady notion
that the universe exists for man.

 But then some natural phenomenon
etches its harmony over top the storm.
It is not the spirit that abandons.
Life is more than birth and dying,
Every song was written to be sung
with the truest tones the soul can spend.

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