Epiphany

She is part of the prophecy.
The blind midwife.

Her epiphanies didn’t rub on me.
I am still one story short of a moron!

My epiphanies are short sighted and
they suffer from hedonism.
My epiphanies go to the shrines,
and forget why they went there.
My epiphanies don’t dance,
nor do they mourn.
Come to think of it,
they can’t be epiphanies.
They fail the name.
They are as much loud,
as I am quiet.
They are shrewd,
as much as I am naive.
Am I naive?
Sometimes I feel like, I play naive,
to fool myself.
I play naive,
to trick me into talks and bonds.
People need bonds.
It binds them to the earth.
Unbound you risk floating off.

My make believe epiphanies are my anchors.
And I am one story short of a moron!

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