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I survive, groping around
in the dark, searching
for something
round the bend,
above the trap doors
of wishful thinking, pain,
betrayal, and residues
of ego's primeval silence,
as I long for another dream,
skipping over
pirated promises,
so incomplete,
like the stones I took for pearls,
not knowing
their expertise lay
in words unsaid.


          Prompt: "Above the Trap Doors"

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