August 15th

A dream, a vision, an illusion or a prayer,
Cast before me a dice in layers,
I believe I am no longer a slayer.

My mind warms to the idea of such an entrapment,
The cold metal becomes such an enchantment,
Spliting my skin into slits and fragments.

I blink, I stare, I quiver and it is still there,
Silently speaking like a hazel deer,
Feeding my senses on mug-dirty beer.

My tongue stays tied and knees stay wobbly,
Like a structure that is all but comfy,
I am blank and my mind remains fuzzy,

So this is his moment of truth,
One he already knew would bare fruit,
Yet he played it with a piper’s flute.

I will hold on to the joy of knowing he evolved,
And engaged me, to let the fear and doubt dissolve,
For I say to you, this is my resolve!

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