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We are all islands.
Floating in in an endless ocean,
tracing the contours of our flaws,
like graphs of an endless table,
breaking numerous times by the gust of wind, 
haywire, as far as eyes can gauge,
melting every moment a bit more
when the sun blazes its eyes,
freezing in an endless embrace
when the icy breeze sing lullabies,
hand in hand across the sea.

In winter,
lies our salvation to an endless sleep
that will sow that seed of hope someday in our dreams.