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Magic, a world of contradiction  
They say the feeling that comes along with happiness is magical.
But, it remains an ambush by illusion.
in which we pretend to swoon, doused.

But, I wonder where, I wonder when the abominable truth will rise
as the head of the serpent with innumerable fangs of vehemence.
The poignant act of the puppets I surmise,
that once kindled would not slither towards slumber with repentence.

Aghast, I would witness the dance of the patriarch.
Despicable it might seem
but would merely be a catastrophe of reality, stark.
I wish to wake up before it is too late to dream.


     

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