Fallen to arise. Allowed fear to grip my soul until a hand reached in to calm me. Contradictions should always be.
Just starting. Not sure if the reader knows how much I let them see The work I do not often flows or fills me with much glee Hard I scratch the surface of my mind not a thing drips out A mechanism of tension to wind as the second hand turns about So I start this my first etching of work and sweat and blood To see if my inner call is leaking onto stained glass flood
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