We live our lives shallow as we live on the rim of forgotten memories.

We run around in windowless chambers, void of doors. We play illusory games,

called life, to placate our broken hearts. Like orphaned children we numb into

grown up.

The tendrils of  that illusory power, like a noose, fears us into submission.

Half-light, half-dark, half-dead we earth crawl unto the metamorphosis of God’s

eternal promise. We emerge child like, once more gliding the curve, held

buoyant by inside out wings

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