EMPTINESS IS FULL
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Inconclusive Subtlety

How the mind loves a result
How words are programmed for ends and beginnings
But life cannot be held in language
The sky cannot conform
The stars cannot produce a conclusive measure of themselves
The grass simply grows
Life will forever remain immeasurably subtle
Yet alive
So alive that the constant grasping of understanding will never be able to hold its immensity
Its inconclusive yielding flowing essence
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