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A mix of color
Of browns and reds
Gold and yellow
To paint and spread

Vibrant to the naked eye
The canvas speaks
Of days gone by
And the days that lie ahead
Many things, the canvas said

The only thing the canvas dread
Was to make sure the starving artist’s fed
The artist, who’s face I read
Painted gold, and yellows
browns and reds
Palm to God to receive
His blessings in our time of need
Let the light shine down below
As a gift thats been bestowed
Free us from our prisoned homes
And let that be our status quo
Colored eggs hidden about
In crevasses and nooks
The Easter eggs are colored bright
So you’ll know just where to look
Bunny ears and baskets
As children run with glee
The resurrection of Jesus Christ
Since the Romans at Calvary in the year 30 AD.
With angels presences ever near
Circling through our atmosphere
Listening all throughout the year
To whispers floating in the air

Inner thoughts and outward dreams
Disasters and catastrophes
A child’s whisper in the breeze
Reminds me where I’m supposed to be
Homeward bound
‪A guardian angel looking down‬
‪To see who she might smite‬
‪The evil that’s lurks about‬
‪From anger, fear, and spite‬
‪Not today, as eyes gaze on‬
‪From the heavens up above‬
‪Only happiness among the flock‬
‪And within us, only love‬
Every day is lost or spent
Immersed in fear and discontent
Struggling with my own defects
Despite my tears’
irrelevance

I mask my fear with intelligence
My smile is of no consequence
It’s meant to shade my past regrets
And to hide my lies in self defense

There’s no clue or evidence
To prove of my benevolence
Just remnants of little consequence
To shoulder my indifference

I’m in danger from the elements
From years of all my recklessness
That’s why I’m so hesitant
For discussion or my sentiments

No sabotage or parlor tricks
I’m in the game, I’m in the mix
I couldn’t be more direct
I’m destined for the apocalypse
Fury, resistant of the realm
Order is self-evident
But not to overwhelm
Survival, restricted to oneself
That no one should have to endure
And sit upon a shelf
To be free, or in anarchy
One must come to terms
With their value, their own self worth
For their time here on earth
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