Conscience: A Wind Chime

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A ripple brimming lake,
Since first amber glimpse.
Serves wisdom broth,
In an incendiary ribcage.

Broth topples,
Its soliloquy, trickles into the next stanza.

Under some moons, hedgehog blanket
In other dawns, equivocal chalk board
Cumulus on a teetering stool,
Painting an experiential terrain…
Showers translucent, we are in her garb.

Time out, for chalkboard.
Bells ring for introspection mode.

That shapeshifter knocks, barely at our doors.
Though, before we axe anyone, she stoops to our toes.
Glistening as a dew, she omits laurel leaves.
In desolate larynx, her chimes revered.

Wind chime hung
Transcendence, our free will.