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For Fouad
Why do the workings stride for blessings,
Quantim Mechanics are beautiful, but have no meaning of love.

Only true is the compelling of love,
yet whence doth it seek, truely from above?

How doth this come to be,
From Earth, to Sun, to Sea?

Why doth my tears fall, why doth my heart hurt?
More efficient would I be, an insect digging in the dirt.

And time moves on, always changing and distrupting,
Always from ages unto ages, but no power has it on lovings.

Is it God? Is it the Great Spirit? Is it a force?
For Quantim it is not, for in that lies no love and even by perforce.