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Blindness

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The metamorphosis is not complete,
Feeling with fingers frozen still.
Time stands on a fragile ledge,
With coffee cups and golden window sills.

Phases of dark shadows will pass.
A soft whisper on the neck lingers;
Liquid salt overcomes the push,
Underneath alien lights, surrenders.

Pull at the locks and melt into eyes.
Strain at the touch; turn out of nothingness.
Feel unto everything and with Everything there's nothing:
But a shallow moon, in the black hole of Blindness.





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