PRISTINE

The soul is redeemed,
In the inferno of amelioration.
It is sculpted,
In the reddish smoulder of the sun.
It is nurtured,
With the phenomenal dew of the grass.
But it is the soul,
Who must ensure to defenestrate;
The apocryphal darkness from the life.
The soul should paint,
Its way in the canvas;
Towards the Omniscient.

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