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The Stealth of Sanity

Sanity is a fickle lady

Who gives of herself sparingly

To those whose desperation leads

Them to choices of a darker shade.

Even as she heals the abandoned

She more oft casts her spell

Through the space left by Her absence

Wherein lies your illusion

Of complacency and arrogance

Living amongst those who disdain her.

Her balm is ne'er dispensed

For the seekers of self gain

At others' expense,

For She knows the weakness

Lodged behind their puffed facades.

Do not wait too long to revisit her

Resolute in Her spartan garret

Which causes you such revulsion.

You will never find comfort

In the festooned halls of power

Which draw you uncontrollably

To overshadow your self-loathing.

But to accept Her is a choice

A sacrificing of all frontispieces

With their blank, separating pages of effrontery.

She left them in tatters long ago

By her own choosing

Devoid of all feted renown

To reside along the less-trodden banks

Of a newfound river named Humility.

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