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Random First Lines:What becomes of you when you die? Where will you be sent off to? Would you be the same person there as you are here? And will you return?... » Read
In the when the sun has gone down behind the trees, thoughts come, like friends or like foes, to disturb the corridors of peace. This poem is the captured thoughts of such an evening and is intended to celebrate the randomness of ideas as they occur, and their connectivity.