I see her standing deep within
A forest of old, ancient trees
I know her Wisdom is old but true
Sophia, Venus, Ophelia,
She is my muse
She is a light
The past, its bridges,
Rotted out,
Seem so unimportant now
The drums of war have faded,
Faded
The pipes of thieves are unheard
I have forgotten all I held
Those strands of hate wrapped
In my fingers,
All released and freely thrown
So that my open daydream hand
Can grasp her waiting truths
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