Here’s some Tuesday afternoon inspiration to keep away the trepidation.
Fear not the working world, or the wandering screams that quiver and stroke amongst the shiny silt laden streams. my mortal fear lays unmolested on smooth stones of virgin white, my conscience fear not the flat earth rut, the tall imposing temple wall, or the Red roses that prick and bore.
Splendour instead at the solid ocean with land for waves, which dug of the sea and half-born moon are made. Rebel against the dictatorships glare of the red ringed sun, which only rocks of mind can summit alone, fear not the rays and glare of sunken solitude and burnt worn bone.
Fear not the persistent ivy creep and tangle, resist to hide amongst some starry spires or derelict ruins with cold granite offerings from their formidable shade. Face-front to the internal spectres that haunt your hidden human quilt, where a skins balance crawls true, and yet worldly joys persist…
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