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A Miner's Sanctuary He is an old man bent by the burden of forty years labor blasting and chiseling carting and sifting in self declared solitude with little to spare and much to share. He holds his vision and the aim of his will with the rapture of passion running free in swirling veins of unrefined gold soft enough to peel from cages of quartz with thick fingered hands. He knows the voice that guides his good dream and refrains from the self indulgent small voice opinions that sound like his boots shuffling in echoing empty halls of quartz and granite that have become a tangible symbol of his life choices. He challenges his fate and the waiting stony thief who stores his dream and stares without comment at the solemn march each morning into another days hard labor for flecks of gold promised in the chuckling noises of sifting screens laughing at his resolve. Yet every day he makes his charge remembering to forget and protecting the embers that warm his dream and ignite the vision of swirling golden veins soft enough to peel with the faith of one more day invested with promise in his sanctuary of hope. |
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