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Perception Great is the child's, not blinded by the world's fake shine as the light fades, it's glimmers of innocence falling between the cracks. Left are wide spaces, rendered open for the power hungry hordes. Their spoken words, a red cloak of savoir faire. Worn like a queenly reign. Beneath the hell with skin swollen, stung by the words of the seekers of illusions, hearts of gold toss hopes into a wishing well filled with their own tears, giving freely without listening first. Still they remain, hidden by the shadows of the earthly reknowned. Author's Note: Not Finis! |