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When the soul wanders away from the body,
life is water spilled from a broken cup.
What thoughts steal into your mind
in the desperate hours of the night,
when your silver-white soul, the yearning,
feeling part of you, comes to me
and pours out its love and longing?

You hold tight to your desires, intricate
machines fashioned from pride and vanity,
their moving parts useless.

I fear you will not call back your soul,
for if you sailed out on the silver-white sea
that is your soul and all souls, your elaborate
machines would rust and crumble, the lies
that come so easily to you would fall,
word by word, into the salt water and dissolve.

And your soul would inhabit your body
with its joy and tears and its love that expands
forever. But then who would you be,
without the empty machines of your desires?

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