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Musings of a Pseudo-Blind
The steps I take are drudging.
I walk--a blind man in thirst,
hounded by dreams only fate
can answer.
There is no consolation.
This was my choice.
Where is the end of the road?
I shudder.
There were those who risked seeing.
Their price was freedom.
Like them, I must prod on.
Too many tracks in circles, I made.
Eyes must open, not closed.
I have to see or stumble again,
trapped by my own chains.
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