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She Longs To Be Free

She paints a life in soft-spun gold,   A dream where love won’t lose its hold.   She speaks of mornings, hand in hand,   Of simple joys, a life well-planned.   She whispers of a quiet home,   Of love that never needs to roam.   She swears that all she wants is me,   But I can see—she longs to be free.   Her eyes drift past the life she draws,   A longing laced between her pause.   She craves the world beyond our door,   Yet tells herself she wants no more.   No walls can hold a restless heart,   No love can make her torn soul part.   She wants this life—she swears it's true,   But deep inside, she’s passing through.
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Hollow Sting

Through quiet echoes of my soul,
Lies a yearning to feel whole.
Not just through wealth, but through thought,
A peace so rare, yet deeply sought.

Money whispers of what could be,
A canvas blank, a chance to see.
Yet its absence breeds a hollow sting,
A muted hope, a clipped-winged spring.

But deeper still, beneath the weight,
Lives a strength to recreate.
To shift the lens, to see anew,
The worth within, the endless view.

For I am more than coins and gold,
A spirit fierce, a story bold.
And as I learn to heal and grow,
The seeds of abundance begin to show.

Through struggle's fire, a light does gleam,
A future shaped by hope's bright dream.
Not just in wealth, but in the grace,
To find contentment in this space.

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