across the blades of harvest across the cobwebs with knots improper dreams wrinkle childhoodstill, the seeds are too young to fight still, the guilty feel no remorse the war in the soilwithout any cries without any touch the cradles are left behind only innocence grows the conceptiona silhouette of the eyes a silhouette of the rainbows pain of wisdom in dustwithin each broken branch . . . within each fallen petal rainbow-colored hope.

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