Rekindled Craft

What seems like ages really took blinks.

Of an eye my mind once had.

Lodged in-between of the sockets.

The electricity streaks.

Calling to life sudden voices.

It’s just a hoax that I once feared.

A ghost of sodden past that I have lost.

What do I know?

How can that be?

I’m always the only one that sees.

It was a hidden truth that people never got.

We all are secret creatures.

When maintaining our own plot.

This treasure is measured in one’s weight.

Or maybe debate and magnify it’s state.

This distant spark, speaks to my inner voices.

Ushering a new rise.

Higher then many have thought.

I’ll reconcile their immobile junk brought.

Is it that I’ve grown or has my mind changed its radius?

I’ve always had the gift.

But it isn’t always craft.

 

 

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