Objectivism

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I left a chime-like sigh behind
Within the whispering wells
That echoed back my breath to me,
And soft, the south wind blows.

A drape of gray adorned my frame.
My spirit cried with fright.
I heard no word to soothe my grief,
So soft, the quiet lights.

I'm justified but not aligned.
October skies sing my goodbyes.
The egotists are vilified,
But soft, the raven cries.

A dark commander orders me,
My cells, to nullify,
All hope of a return to ease.
So hear, my battle sigh.

My ulcer crafted glass to curve,
A relic of the night,
A dance to chill the firmament
Of dawn, forever light.

I can't begin to love the sin.
I've known it in the peaceless din,
And hid it where it cannot win
The war, no wars with men.

I saw you as the sun undressed.
I love you best with no request,
And no words to, our love, molest;
No kindness to infest.

I love that which I hate the most.
Infamous things go unsupposed.
I'll leave my conviction exposed,
And principles unclothed.

I go unsorry for the things
That bound me when I had no wings.
I've proudly born my sufferings,
Of which the raven sings.

I murdered you with unsaid words.
You love it since it went unheard,
And to your eyes, away, I turned
To southern wind that burned.
It left you unconcerned.
And now I only tell the birds
Of selfishness I've learned.





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