Clearly becoming pure in thought,
my inspiration as soon to taught.
As the heart decides paths from mere tangles,
the burn grows for a deeper substance.
Substance from unknown truths.
Waiting for rays that may never reveal,
a tell-tale divide between the means to an end.
Only wish; for release from weighted synovial.
What will become of such lifting,
as clockwise rotations develop fear as true
as the bare natural whispers under it's own kind.
My inspiration is near, the only time, my time is clear.
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