The crows of my past have been released
struggling consumed by a fiery belief
That they are always intertwined
with my future no matter how mild.

Ritualistic drowning weighed down by chains
cleanings of the spirit and mind it entails
The pressure and pain feels sweet
awaiting my ascension, love it lifts.

The doves of my future protect my transition
they gradually guide be to better positions
New land withing my sight
hands and feet braced aware of the upcoming sight.

Adorn with a new garment of shimmering grace
sure enough of my of new opportunities ready to take my place
My heart surges new blood flows through
af xed upon my head a gold crown too.

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