I sleep with ringing in my ears, like a strange and happy squeal of strings just beyond my reach. I dream of sleeping, on matted grass, my stomach engorged with wonder I so willfully swallow, blind to its bitterness. I clutch the earth hoping the green of this beauty might seep into my waking life, or maybe I will seep into it, my life becoming a vague wisp, spent and silent on the green. But it is only in the desperate madness of the wretched souls that I lead through this ghost land that my eyes might catch a glimpse of the divine mystery I dare not to guess. I must live through their purity of faith, and dream.
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