Description
The bell is tolling near 11, and the world is turning orange. I wake, woman full and tired of the victimhood, of the conversations treading gently, of the void critical thinking skills this world wades. Lonely with no debates or questions, no inflamed source of right.
The skies and sun have been rich, as the daily rain. Clouds move quickly, striping with the wind. I wonder where you others are, soaking up your power. I call to you, worn inward from the buzzing.
May this autumn move us all, abundant and clear
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