Your mind has been a workspace,
a bloody battleground, a stage.
Let it now be a garden, okay?
The hustle took root in the muscle.
Some years are for softening,
kneading it out.
Rest is what keeps the art honest. When I pause, my art deepens. It’s in the pause where you get your ideas. You remember what matters. The signal returns. Your next inspiration waits under the trees.
Let the following words be moss-covered and unnecessary;
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