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Priorities As the rays from the sun begin to peek through the clouds, they find their way to my hidden window and hit with such force my breath is taken from me. A single dove is soaring upon the crest of the intrusion, and dares in persuasive overtones to challenge my solace. I am forced into a situation where my eyes are not focused to use. I am without guidance or experience and made to make decisions based on blind faith. Time has become my curator. Refusing the waste of its precious commodity, it guides the restoration of my vision, stripping naked the beckoning and intimidating pastures that ooze emerald green to reveal the true harsh terrain beneath. My surroundings are stark now. My hand is not forced to smear illegible scribbles of uncertainty upon a slate coated with decades of grime. I have been force fed the right to scribe with the quill of hard earned wisdom that will never disappear. The game of priorities has ended. I have been acknowledged and acclaimed by the testimony of the vacating dove as he leaves his post of my well being, Releasing me anew to my world. |
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