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In 100, by Briene on November 9, 2018 at 10:39 pm

Wound tight ‘round its spool, a golden chord, glowing as it turns and it winds. Casting light to the pitch of the soul in the ribs, the bastion of consciousness’s meandering. 

It bobbles and steadies, accelerates and slows, but paces through this choice and that. Until it catches a snare, and abruptly halts, fighting to spin again. The glow quickly fades, the rhythm subsides, and the life in the ribs starts to dim. 

That’s it? I ask with longing. Is my joy forever gone? 

But the answer is mine, if I chose to align my conscience, I’ll be ignited again. 

  1. This is such a beautiful visualization of integrity

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