Do we ourselves know
If we are stardust,
Or just dirty, melting snow?
We all wear masks,
It’s not convenient
For others our secrets to know
Nor how far we can really go!

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Of idealistic rubble,
Part of History
Or just memories
Muddled,
Whose very existence,
Was more trouble
Than worth,
Because we seem committed,
To toxicity
Instead of creativity and mirth
Or even,
Just forgotten, how to act
With some specks of human worth.

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