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All The Old Times Within The Waters


Daniel Gallik

On the shore of the common lake
she touched my hand. With her hand.
I did not melt. I was getting old.
I did look into her eyes. Saw

her insecurities. Saw mine. Had
had enough and left her for
another lake. There I noticed
the water dirtier. And the birds

funny looking. And I wept. Not
for her. Or the lake. Or
the wildlife. I wept for myself.
I had found nothing in life

except its sadness. I found it
was wearing me down. I found it
was making me too thoughtful.
Un-alive. Finally, I wished

I was all over. The lake looked
forboding. As I walked out into it.
It opened to me. Wider and deeper.
Soothing were its reeds. Fish.

Its depths. I had done this before.
In a past death. I had found
it was fine. I was relieving
worlds of myself. &. That was fine.

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