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Waiting for Fruit
I search through catalogs of conscious
Ripping and Dragging
Foaming and Sweating
Hoping and Praying
For even the slightest bit of inspiration
Simple enough is it not?
To sit before a table and write
To wring you body until your soul seeps onto a page
A stream of thought lost in an ocean of shackles
I hope for something more to come
Sit and wait in horrid boredom
Still I rise to the seat as often as I may
Cutting and Slicing these forest until I am heard
I Scream for more time as the buzzer of agenda pulls me away
Perhaps my voice shall never be heard over the chorus
But that doesn't make its melody any less important
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A weight on my mind...