Blank Spaces
Ages have passed in a matter of moments, imputable spells cast by one-eyed
wizards and inapt sages, a garden of thorns has blossomed in a field of stone;
broken is the plow by which the farmer lay, uncultivated are the best of the crop,
but treacherous are the ones effortlessly manipulated; Comatose is the white
light which arrives too late, always choosing to ride a wind that never blows,
Around the picture can be flipped, but even right side up it still might be upside
down; Learning can never be bad but believing you know it all will set you afire
and leave you unaware you are burning
Copyright © Lacey Vann | Year Posted 2007
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