The cadence of revelation is echoingFrom DNA to Do Not Disturb     as clear as destinyAnd we ascend the crystalline totem without filter We scanned the heavens and horizonWe struggled to stand in the fulfilled grace of agony     and plundered the last behest of the ancientsWith a daub of design forced upon…

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It’s the agony of this venture, I’m trying to ascend. Behest, the totems call. Love’s cadence has perfect timing. One more chance to thrive. So clear my urge to surge. Crystalline path, still I stumbled. Daub in blood, still I stand. Change design, mistakes scanned. Is destiny my revelation? My work echoing under rasp? No…

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Chance the clear cadence of destiny echoing  past the last city of pomegranates  plundered by grace; stand as a fool, fulfilled, at the edge of this agony and ascend its twisted stair like those who stumbled among the stars only to fall again into the sea. What of this venture prevails in the muted rasp…

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With agony, she stumbled Scanned the crystalline shoreline for a venture of her design To behest her potential  Surge her chance into Fate’s heel Stand firm in destiny fulfilled A dream birthed from purpose revealed Revelation to thrive,  Echoing voices from the afterlife Grace placed blessings on her ancestor’s totem Timing told them She’s the…

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Amidst traffic’s rasp stolid glass towers stand splotched in shimmering  pre-dawn lustrous pink crystalline  glitter mingling with some   new color, some  sublimely elusive gray wane—street-level  revelation of cadence of echoing square windows that simply ascend and  numb, some  sleek clear wattle and daub filter  scanned for the fateful grace of the fulfilled  fool whose…

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In the midst of infinity, (was it destiny or chance?) emptiness bore its heel into itself and spoke to the void: “A perfect world may only prevail in silence. We’ve borne nothing, yet we’ve created a crystalline empire. However, we cannot become anything more, only a clear reflection akin to a deceased heaven; echoing for…

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A crystalline totem towers overhead. The Dame of Fortune marks the Granaliero’s face with the Daub of a Falsifier. It’ll thrive like a bad case of shingles until his destiny is fulfilled. Like a fool, he stumbled onto the clear platform to await revelation of his sentence. The Dame poses a choice, “Grace or agony?”…

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We always gambled the quality of New Year’s Eve; it was Agony or victory, no exceptions; Except I was too loaded to care that year: fat, sated, fulfilled — A fool dropping filter after filter on the carpet; The cadence increasing as the ball drops in New York… Chicago… Los Angeles; And as we ascend…

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Timing or the lack there of – leading to the revelation – “A fool and his money are soon parted”  The agony of loss – watching markets surge, thrive, soar, to ascend forever  Despite the inner knowledge    Such growth could never stand – could not prevail indefinitely The totem of prosperity now brought down, fully…

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In case you stumbled into a sort of sightless grace; in case the crystalline arrow piercing your heel might be poisoned with revelation, like a fiery daub of venom, clear and sure, forking a final surge of lightning through your failing limbs, you ran. In case the ancient hope could still prevail, in case the…

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