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Who hates vanity?
He who admires it.
He who sends judgments that are nothing but anger.
Poor swan, so hurt.
Poor pure soul in agony
That could never understand
Why they took its feathers and never came back.
Poor divine swan
For it flies so high!
Through clouds of superiority.
Even higher than God himself
Simple mortals make it bleed
But it will always exist.
Poor little swan.
With no more wings than darkened metaphores
On the strings of its desire.
Softer than hell,
Innocence refuses to vanish.
Poor sacrificed swan.
For it dies one thousand times.
But every time, the sky cries out
And a new rose blossoms
And God himself smiles +
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