Scramble Sauce

Thy desolate land cannot contain, the phenomenon of which is so mundane;

And yet from each eternal ray of light, thou continues to amaze with everything right.

 

A glimmer, a response, none without; the true light within.

Hope remains, self contained in its vessel provided.

The shadow of doubt cannot hide from dismay the nature of the human complexity,

each organ a robot of its own self. A mind! A heart! Together and complete! Together and whole!

 

But yet, just like thine self, it is human. Capable of love, capable of virtue. 

Different parts, one system.

This poem is about: 
Me
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