Of the Many of One

Of the Many of One.
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Love, Papa.

Bullets fly

Fingers point

Tongues burn

Yet we stand firmly

Rooted in our meager truths

Knowing only what we spout.

Defying our reflections

With anything but awareness.

For each must seek

Yet all will find

That we are but one of the many of the one.

And when Peace comes upon each

So that many might see.

The One smiles.

Love, Papa.