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Riddle
Our days are likened to the sea
and we to a reach of sands
who'd shore up into seven names
what the tides pull through our hands.
From the well of the uncreated
the four who command us have come
to the rim-wavering bubbled assembly
of divers who haven't a home;
the arch of the arrow of ages
has apexed with lightning our dome,
and mirrors by magic our movement
to worlds where our spirits would roam.
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TTG, circa earliest 1970s copyright 2007 Elias Alias.
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