History does not weigh on my shoulders,
for all that matters is where the hands

on the clock wave now and really,
clocks always smile, knowing presence

is beautiful like lavender,
for some an acquired scent,

though if all the world knew
they could inhale beauty,

there would be less Prozac, more love,
less war, more dance, less judgment,

more compassion. Beyond twilight dreams,
lavender will grow, clocks will tick. Yes,

life will happen, as waves will always
arrive at the seashore.

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