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Unwittingly, what have I done…

With every quiet song not sung.
With every lucrative thought.
With every step I walk along and not, among.
Mindlessly, what have I done.
 ⇔
These days not for treading moderately.
A some Sunday, today.
Even now, as I walk,
Sunday’s wistful streets,
it is not myself that I greet.
 ⇔
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With an outlook of flora and fauna.
There is no frenzy.
No need for rivalry.
A recluse traveler.
Worshiping wanderer.
 ⇔
Not an apple, nor a buck.
I am an indigenous woman.
Cherokee on bent knee.
In the middle,
only breed.
Pawning my blood to meet my needs.
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In contrast, I walk between…
hallowed ground and…
vetted towns.
 ⇔
There is no sabbath in this,
the new frenzied silence.
Only falsehoods with an affiliation of dictating violence.
“Whether we walk among our people or alone among the hills, happiness in life's walking depends on how we feel about others in our hearts.” Anasazi- 7 Paths
“Whether we walk among our people or alone among the hills, happiness in life’s walking depends on how we feel about others in our hearts.”
Anasazi- 7 Paths
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