Write poems to people
Whose names ring unknown
Flatter them dead, disarm their control.
For what regards form
I trully am shapeless
Like all heathen gods, crawling through ages.
Bind not yourself
To the motives of men
For their is no such thing as the certainty of plan.
Trust not Love as your sight,
For it will rob you of direction
And in your mortal hours you'll be severed from connections.
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