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Chase & Status “Blind Faith (Instrumental)”





From a whisper to a scream
I learned to breathe
Amidst the drift of wistful precognition to concede
I summoned up the strength to go to greatest lengths foreseen
To swim the depth and width and breadth of the between


From river bed to red dawn skies
Recalling sights redeemed from the reprise of each re-energizing dream
Seen through eyes so wide they prized the long and winding stream
Prolonged the enterprise which led me here esteemed
When I had bled dry every reason to proceed


Sped from seed to shoot
I felt compelled to steep in bloom
For treading eggshells was impeding my pursuits
Knew well I was doomed if I resumed the path with heart marooned
Departing with this part of me unmoved
When party to a masterpiece
Of very many arteries
That only ever charmed to bleed their truths


I was moved
To tears
Due to nearly being through
When clearly I was quickening a fated claim undue
That I would not amount to something greater than the pain I had accrued
Therefore the only honorable course would be to bid a brisk adieu


From a whisper to a scream
Within abyss of the between
I listened keenly to the scripture of a pioneering dream
Its theme appeared to speak of secret clearing in the trees
Where fears were merely heightened senses
Neighbours engineered no fences
Grace was famed the best defence
To bracing gales of hail relentless
Seemed obscene expressing tension
Whence relieved of apprehension
Herein I had been deemed fit for mention
Here I felt at home
To growth’s progression


From blustering leaves to lustrous streams
In this whimsical dream
I was seen
Felt intrinsically high on belief
That the blind are more likely to spirally leap
Defiantly keen to seek ends to their grief
For while waking life binds
They can fly in their dreams
Can summon up the strength to go to greatest lengths foreseen
To swim the depth and width and breadth of the between


It was then
In a heartbeat
I learned to breathe
And my friends did just the same
In great relief
Indeed, they etched their names into my tree
And here I lounge in shade
Not faraway
When one believes






Richard Charles Stevens


Keeper of The Crimson Quill




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