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Endings

The still darkness of death is also peace.
The river of time flows always downward.
Rivers never seem to even decrease,
Being reborn in white on the mountains.

Some rivers find a resting home too small
And become salty, bitter, and lifeless.
Some gather streams and heed ocean’s call
Which fuels the cloud that rise over the plain.

The snow , cold. The ocean, deep.
They are different, yet are still the same.
In both, one finds an eternity of sleep.
This body , mostly water, lost in them.