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Poem: The Great Show

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I will die.
I am not yet dead.
I have come from nothing and to nothing will return.
There may or may not be a reason,
I will never know.
The great show is in full swing
but I am not the audience.
I am a thread on the arm of a chair
somewhere in the gallery
feeling the tension
,the spring of release,
as my inhabitant reacts.

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