Blinding Light

Chance Motta
Dreams with hold a whispered silence
Unseen truths muddled with time
Unconscious acceptance of the shadow
Daylight blinds our weary eye

Darkness is foreseeing
Aware of the slightest sound
Driven by our blindness
Divided we stand with in

Fear not my child
Held in time the key is lost
In desperation's clutching grip
We may find our place of pure

Published by Chance Motta

I was born in Seattle and started reading a lot in elementary school. In middle school I developed a love for music and started playing guitar. In highschool I put more efforts into music and started writing...  View profile

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