Pure doesn’t matter – a sincere psyche does.
Not like a warm welcome from a stranger,
In a musky desert, she remained pure through it all.
Linguistics covering her tracks,
To be a courteous figure,
To all those in obligation of guidance,
Now sorrow is present again.
When her name is spoken…
The lost are lost once more.
Struggling to grab onto something substantial,
They’ve pledged to wander unaccompanied.
Through a world so fractured,
A raven flies free.
PR
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