The end of youth is signaled by the universe, crawling from its magic skin,
to beomce a place no heart would want to go
And the heart must go somewhere; it plows through dense arguments
and loves what will love it briefly.
The end of youth is signaled by great confusion
Beyond where the gods cannot contain themselves
And they shed their tears once more.
Shapes appear and disappear in the holy night
As though the constellations are in prayer for a new mind
to suffuse and replenish the stillness it lies in tonight.
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