Times, every now and then,
I wrestle for time to begin
in solitude where I am in
so I might look deep within.
In silence I can hear clear
echos of what I hold dear.
They reverberate so near
where in my heart appears.
To make sense of sound
where alone I have found,
to steady feet on ground,
what I should do abounds.
Reality for me none make.
Ears my friends did mistake
for a spitefully blind place.
Forget they a learned face.
Who’s eyes have seen ends
that death might have sat in.
Who am I my my blind friends?
If not a man familiar with sin?
Your whispers of ill will falls
on ground where I stand tall.
Where to bed I do take it all
waking to see what sleep saw.
For to make sense of spite
you spin in sin that divides.
Heard I did while in the night
your acidic values take flight.
Ears can be tricked by fancy.
Tell me tales to dance with me.
Forget you did quite handily
not deceived am I by dancing.
Caution in my solace brought,
from what trips alone taught
of what I should do or do not
with great price I have bought.
Very lovely 😊
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Thank you Lana!!😁
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Beautiful
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Thank you!! 😀
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