Is There, In Truth, No Beauty

I am the dry path

Sat between

The first rain drops

I am the dandelion

Dancing in a field

Missed by the scythe

I am the spark

That jumps

From flint to straw

I am the breaking wave

Crashing up against

Deserted beaches

I am the words

Caught in the throat

Of dirty liars

I am the light

Crawlin...

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