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The Beauty of Power and Will

The sound of cleansing drumroll caught my eyes and grabbed the judges ambition for relatibility,

Held not in an entrance or escape but on visible hidden platforms agreed on cutting me down for wasting time set up for tomorrow with limited experience and inclement weather.

But meaningless expectations and emotional possessive satisfaction made one single mistake—to divorce the consciousness of copper sequins and glance back full-force to bloodshot gravel on the unlocked prison doors,

And then show initiative by telling the warrior’s demonic lead to fight for its dreams in last night’s laundry list of achievements.

But stuck in the middle I gave words the final power and tumbled down the stairs into the amber-colored pieces,

And finally came flooding in, inspired by the full moon to break free.



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