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Your early inborn magic did not fortell the whirls and winds of the future. The shine of youth ended in turbulence. Dismania, like fingers, touched, you. Ivy on brick, the tendrils pierced. Walls of uncertainty nourished and you, welcomed the future. There were no tomorrows. Pulling you through the mirror of myself you tore into uncertainty. No Magi, not even with gifts of surcease brought by the force of love released you. Still the running child you crash into a future whose spiders claw at you. Tomorrow waits protected by your addiction. Reach into the future all you want, you cannot tear the crawl of your destiny away. Caroline Shank 10.13.2022
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Dec 13, 2022
Dec 13, 2022 at 10:09 AM UTC
To My Daughter in Whom Arrived the God of Mischance
Your early inborn magic did not fortell the whirls and winds of the future. The shine of youth ended in turbulence. Dismania, like fingers, touched, you. Ivy on brick, the tendrils pierced. Walls of uncertainty nourished and you, welcomed the future. There were no tomorrows. Pulling you through the mirror of myself you tore into uncertainty. No Magi, not even with gifts of surcease brought by the force of love released you. Still the running child you crash into a future whose spiders claw at you. Tomorrow waits protected by your addiction. Reach into the future all you want, you cannot tear the crawl of your destiny away. Caroline Shank 10.13.2022
Carolineshank
Written by
79/F/Wisconsin
Dec 13, 2022
Dec 13, 2022 at 10:09 AM UTC
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