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In my heart I save my passions
until the summer chimes again.
My vital source of existence,
often turned vial by the pure remorse of the ego.
It will overflow my consciousness
and the day will come when art is not yet creative enough
and mediation is not yet spiritual enough.
Thus the trend will seep.
And the hiatus of humanity will breed within my quintessence
longing for a faint and inconspicuous absolution.
That ultimate high.
Then, I will become a model
for thousands of potential artists and sages and addicts
that hold only broken passions.