That lesser men disdain the path
crooked, narrow, dark
leading to the luminous gate
which houses the mother of all hearts.
The gate once reached, compresses softly,
its charity of forgetfulness releasing pristine dreams,
like butterflies which alight on stars,
like fireflies that ignite the night,
that lesser men disdain and scorn
we demigods and perky queens
who live the life
beyond the dream.
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