free'ed from a weighted dream, the sky is nearer than it seems, architect of all our wiles, the never-ending turning stiles, kiss your lips, then foot to earth, one lurches unto living's worth, conveyed through these narrow panes, static structure, failing planes, the sky falls out of all ideal, whilst people bleed to make it real, the perspective we need to grow, the endless seeds we're yet to sow, amid the grace, amid the gale, 'neath sharing sun it's ever pale, the lustre of what's yet to be, rendered real from reverie...
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