Praise, it waits to drizzle
On open and willing ears
Allowing it to seep everywhere
The mind’s always thirsty
For the juice of praise
It provides an imaginary lift
In the heavy depths
Where thoughts struggle
For air and light
Burdened with the task
Of carrying the dark
It’s the fate of the past
Praise claims to work for us
Allowing the mind to ease
The difficult task of pruning
Its unruly growth of thorns
It is put aside, as we bask
In the false luminosity
The world heaps as praise
Praise
A poem.
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