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Ocelot's Poetry and Songs

a quickened pulse gives no regard
to quiet solace: interred - barred

active, garish, running, rushing
quells the quiet act of hushing

onward pushed, impulsive choices
fail to still the harried voices

panic now - the pulse beats faster
Work to see the peace hereafter

now a blur, no time for thought
still the pain of speed not caught

fleeting fancies - pulse indulges
now collapse amidst the bulges

now collapse the shell unable
to attain the great One's table

finally - as drive recedes
hear the wisdom silence breathes.
Kevin Metcalf

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