lays the question that hath no response.
Seven soaring symphonies of work,
yet blocked away from every standing man.
Sounds of search have risen on this earth
to answer questions posed at birth of sun.
I stand alone and seek my star's soft ray;
upon such sand of soft and warming skin.
The waves are gentle, calling out my name.
I hold such harsh belief to hear thy call.
Mount the boat and hold the oars so close.
Hold thy future bared by I alone.
Row the boat through waves of blue and gold;
Let the sky you seek ahead unfold.
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