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ink foretold
We wrote our future long before the presence.
Our own ink puzzled the paper.
Marveling at its fecundity we fell blind to all clews.
Now that the darkness of the former glory blurs our sreets.
What shall become of us?
I blame the ink!
It scrawled of our scattering while we mesmerized and relished in its beauty,
Ignoring all its alarmism.
The ink foretold our demise!
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