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There is a surreal tenor to this place
– it is not what it appears to be
A veil of truth written upon its face
– yet the space between is what I see
There is diffused light glowing with intent
– it is not at all the warming kind
A pall of grey like thick smoke is lent
– as though darkness being defined
There is a dreamlike haze hanging here
– it is not the sparkling magical sort
A strong need to wake amid sense of fear
–¬†realizing I am not asleep stops me short.
Karen Quinn 2005

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