To what this hole may be,
A path to be such a thing much like a trail,
Things don't damper but ascend to new heights,
Finding all that is my own and capturing the light the hides,
Hides among the leaves of those tree which wilt,
Just as the seasons transition like the day and night,
Just falling to the point in which was meant,
For all that seemed to fall together,
To write the words that need not be written,
Is the dream only achieved through fame and greatness
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