At the edge of oblivion
a horned owl watches patiently,
serenely unfolding a sea of drama
in the endless night,
satisfying the cursed quota
as the wicked men waste
and wise men weep,
their sorrow a testament
to the artistry of the owl,
whose creative vision and imaginative
endeavors run without parallel,
forever creating and destroying
the dreams of each living creature
with fulfillment happening at random,
every disappointment of little consequence
in the encompassing grand scheme,
although world shattering in their own right,
the owl blinks in acknowledgment,
knowing the end result will justify the suffering.

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