The worlds we build

Let him sleep where he may lie
Let him give all when he may try
Stepping in small shuffles
with voices muffled
The cold blindfold over the eyes of justice
entrusted to substance without her feathers ever ruffled

Are the pursuits of purchase
over objects so worthless?
For what he may build out of passion and service
lives unearthed as his matter of purpose

To create what we love
inside our shells spells out
the lining on the wings of doves

What it is to free the scars of what we are
from our eyes to our work
to reveal the depth of our stars

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