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Like the Smoke

Like the Smoke

When I'm shaded by the wind
and my clouded, lowered eyes
are blinded by the flames
that arise

When I'm cast upon the water
beneath the bitter skies,
I strive to be the smoke
and try to rise

Not for any person
or for any fated prize
Not for any soul
against me till the end

Not because the wind
is the pit of my demise
I strive because the smoke
would rise again

even if the air's
embittered in its spite
Even if the flame's
wearied and it's down

Even if the wind
be somewhat merciless,
I strive to be the smoke
because I've found

if rise is all you do,
then the falls- eventually-
never really keep you
from rising to the sky

If rise is all you do,
then your life- essentially-
is without a single fall
and you'll never truly die