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The Search

In the morning mist,
where clouded answers lie
somewhere in between the dew.
A silent soft voice echoes out
from a ray of sunshine, while dancing
down a snow-capped mountainside.
Questioning its path with uncertain reasoning.
Whether to run like the rapids or drop like a fall,
but it sees it can do neither
because the drops are still glared
and don't yet shine on the steps of chance.

By: Derick Pallotti

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