To be true to yourself

Through the jowls of pain emerges light so refined
like eyes sparking power
the flowers of wisdom bloom not in a plain sight defined

The flight of wingless birds knows only of mindful escape
their feathers like claws upon chalkboards of deceit
help them remember who they were before defeats of fate

Predestined are those deemed to loom through spaces between life and dream
trapped endlessly between scenes of invisibility and definition
repetition brings the mundane to replace the trepidation of our intentions supreme

A dried river remembers what it was meant to be from the past
as a barren jungle knows not solely of the present moment
It is our choice to settle for life’s atonement but reminders of existence are omens at last

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