Purple Mist
R RoseAnn V. Shawiak
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Purple mists, hazing my sight, gelling inside, delicately protecting innate whisperings of genius.
Relaxing in an atmosphere of antiquity, perfecting rhythms
of life to exacting measurement.
Attacking circular methods of circumstance with hesitant efforts and mystical romance.
Curtains of purple mist fall across my sight, encapsulating
me in an envelope of timid remorse, while expectations
sprout and blossom before me.
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