There is always beauty and order
A symmetry to re-establish itself.

The world is not all that crummy
Says poet in moon-struck hours.

The old stoic in Rome is calmly lit
In exile, enough to console mom.

World is not where all roads lead.
One braved small hours of squall.

We are fine with all our black grief
And so much crumminess around.

There are always some light hours
A few episodes in a general drama.

World is not such a crummy thing.
She has these episodes in between.


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