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"No things are as great as those which we Communicate without speech, Touch without hands, Envision without eyes and  Know without intellect. Such things are from the spirit and Are wrought in God alone."

Once a player, 
I am now content to sit and gaze at some mortality,
And suppose what will take place in spite of me.
Timed - to disassociate, in search of fainted friends.
Bound - to meet up with someone, who likewise comprehends
This death.
A test?
A charm?
A chore?
Perhaps a gift that's meant to show itself
Upon some other shores
Outside of time. 
No fame is given to this clock.
Instead a claim is laid to give the rock
To one who bears no name, 
But will remain forever.

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