I have waited for this blessed touch, my minute find of feeling whole.
A graced poppet in its state of null.
Fate is raped, I know this true to be my leave, my exit of wicked spirit.
My stain of chance has become my hue of choice;
My words ( in voice ) they now are sharpened,
No slip of tongues, no cutting causing a loss of blood…
My urge grows stronger, no longer the taste of a faith that has spoiled,
‘tis a faith borne anew… an open hand with-holding its most powerful grip.I having sipped from an ocean of dreams know of these things:
I am shy of illusion and outweigh each delusion by dueling my love
Against the wager and nature of time
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