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Can flow like a river into sea of woe,
The will of adulation we won't live without.
We seek it, long for it and are tortured by it;
Capable of holding us captive and setting us free.
An illusion vital to humankind,
A holder to the key of souls.
The protagonist unlocking suppressed sentiment,
To withstand distance, age and multitudes of change.
Yet to conceal is to create an unbalance of space and time,
Allow the fragments to fall where they may.
Sweep them up to reveal fresh green grass;