Therein,
a still solemn voice,
like a wandering web,
spread within.

Let it soar like the eagle,
Let it ponder in the shoes of curiosity,
Let it fluctuate against the graph of mysticism hanging its fuzzy legs like question marks,
Let it roar and rage with the voice of a storm,
Perhaps coo and chatter like slender beaks of early morn
Let it prance with Okonkwo's soles upon illogical spikes,
Let it gulp down the evidence presented by reality's wise lips,
and reap peace in solidarity with realism.

Ply not with pride towards the route,
which lures to eternal incarceration.
It's whip sends a tender kiss - that rind to gift with lacerations.
A zombie made manifest from this experiment,
Hinged unto the feeble arms of manufactured realities.

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