The propensity of it all,
How could I possibly know what is to come next
And yet so much of it seems so predictable
In shrinking pupils
Nuanced architecture
before it happens
Even the outlier events become commonplace
I navigate them
As the weakest part of the mind
Is between the plates of their beliefs
I came, feather and
talon
Days before you even heard of this place
I held the image of it
time becomes trivial
what is to become of us?
What is to become of this?
As I dream of beauty and grace
Trying to subdue the firestorm of my thoughts
Sequestering the ire into stamina
Breaching the ethereal
I hunger for the shift
Repeatedly brought back to reality
Only to realize there is a kind of atonement
In the furnaces of faithlessness
Where the faithful never shape this reality
I am wrought and tempered
In the dream of chaos
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