A seventh sense 
(a sudden crack)
A seventh sense 
(I cannot stay here)
This seventh sense
(I have to stop, look up 
there, beauty is lacing the sky 
the yellow hands of autumn draws near the furthest leaf)
This seventh sense
(there is a massacre; 86 gone, they keep on counting, 90, 91, the youngest is 11. I see a photo of him. his lips are my lips, his eyes, I know that look. he smiles. and others come - only 8, not yet 12, just turned 17, barely 21 - we keep counting; bodies, ages. they speak of a monster that feeds on lives. they say the monster demands as well the young.)
This seventh sense
tells me
that, 
the crack opens its unexpected mouth,
there, beauty happens,
there, terror happens.
there, oblivion.
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