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Quiet,
dear soul,
dear soul,
spiraling
through a palace
of angels --
their thundering,
bidding heartbeats,
their lightning glances
and their blinding,
stair-stepping
feathery flames.
Come out
their thundering,
bidding heartbeats,
their lightning glances
and their blinding,
stair-stepping
feathery flames.
Come out
to the empty field
in the cool morning
and listen
to nothing,
no voice,
no song,
no sound
and almost no
wind
in the cool morning
and listen
to nothing,
no voice,
no song,
no sound
and almost no
wind
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