As the man stands outside
Wathing the rain come down on a dark night
Listening to the slightly discordant sound
Not caused by the imperfection of nature's rythem
But by the imperfection of mans creations
One has to wonder
If the only time that man and existence are one
Is during the infant's first laugh
and in the instance of his last breath
There are no answers
Only questions
Perhaps we can confront them some day...
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