She strode with a swift brisk Towards what would be desert
She strode with a swift brisk 
Towards what would be desert terminal stories
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mohsilas
mohsilas I like writing stuff
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
Terminal, a poem about facing mortality

She strode with a swift brisk Towards what would be desert

And stood aside as time ran out

And stood aside as time ran out Like a black sheep amid the white blazing sand

No roads, no signs, no shade at sight. And thought

No roads, no signs, no shade at sight. And thought between Darwin and Nietzsche Something stood right

to crawl it easy doesn't amount

to crawl it easy doesn't amount But how to go, and where?

When your steps are in count

When your steps are in count When each step burdens as final

when any direction seems futile

Yet the marching had on some strive

Yet the marching had on some strive And that was what stood aright

To cease not till death arrive

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