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To the heavens I pray for a medicine for the ail of living —all the undeserved heartache and the despair brought by the unfairness of the ways of the world
To the oceans of cold I pray for a medicine for all the unstable fisheries of luck and the crushing tides of what it means to not be chosen or fought for
To the shifting dunes of blasting heat from the suffering brought about by toil and sweat from all the unpaid labor I pray for the rest in the grave of brilliant echoes —to be remembered for a while and to be eventually forgotten by time
