About my buckled-down constancy
Myriad confusions enshroud,
With stingily little synchrony
Between the vanished and avowed,
The safe bet and bold jeopardy,
Or what’s earned against endowed;
I’m but one of a too-chaotic crowd,
Somersaulting a twisted trajectory
Through time, the murkiest cloud.
I'm but one of a too-chaotic crowd.
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