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Trust (Way of Atlantis).

Nothing lasts
save for transience
and that stubborn

mind that persists
in the hopes of falsifying
the flux,

finding some other
sense of permanence:
an anchor, immortal
so worthy
of investment

(perchance
to fucking dream):

my rock, my island,
immune to fates
such as tides, secure
from going
the way of Atlantis.

At best hope,
in the very least
a sense of solace,
in any case:

trust.

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