This One Has No Name

Death is what we call it

When someone stops being here.

And deaf is what we call it

When someone can barely hear.

But that’s not there or here.

Time will make if clear.

Not place nor race nor

Speed of pace can

Bend those graced

With love so placed

That all things are seen through it.

Barry Williams

Much of what I write will be quite understandable to insane folks.

The rest will be, uh, less understandable...

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