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Light eludes the latitudes of
longing. Ripped from One, we hunger for belonging, But choose not to surrender our own oneness, Protecting the sweet sense that we are free. Some would rather melt into the light, Consumed by love, certain of their faith, Yet never, never quite completely home. Some prefer the precincts of the night, Haunted by a homeless, helpless wraith Who yet retains the latitude to roam. Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use. Video and Audio Music: Parzival.
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