Nothing In This World

I am building a perfect life, unconscious
and grateful. A life's story which begins
and ends with breath or more importantly,

the heart, what it spills when shattered.

And what of constant struggle, the search
for love in a wilderness of love, a desert
of illusion, a sacrament of triumph?

Nothing in this world is apparent.

In cold rain, darkness traps silhouettes
of stars, yet leaves them blinking for
children peering out their windows.

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