LAST CYCLE © 2008

This unconsciousness, pretending to be aware,

Chases evolution, but fades away with despair.

Its aptitude is to vanish, leaving no trace,

Following the movement, in an empty space.

In the shadows of nothing, it seeks some sense,

Lit by the midnight sun, lost in suspense.

The weariness of time weighs on its being,

And in the Southern breeze, finds its own sleeping.

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