Writers Journal
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A test of the mind, conscience. The creation of my mental autopsy....

We all look at the lives that our eyes envy and despise. The leachery of our dreams, fading away as the dreams that have submised (if that is a word) . We drift of to our safe heaven , where love is an actual emotion and not a game of cruel intentions, where dreams are realities and hope is a compulsory emotion. Lets take it all in together at once, lets make our paradise from the scraps of what once lay in our hearts.

The honesty that was taken away by diplomacy. The trust stolen away by infidelity, of people to eachother and the nation to the people. The love lost in the whispers of an infant further corroded by the greed of its father. When we have found our paradise we have found nun existing peace but we wait for those that hunt to gather our dreams and lock them up the tower with no door or windows and watch them grow like Rapunzel's golden locs. As they wait in the tower to be called upon but, with our hearts cold and lost we have coward and let go of the dreams that would have made our unknown paradise..

But does that paradise exist the one where a father raises his child. A mother mothers her daughter and a brother cares for the other...




Forgiveness, we are living in this world full of blindness... where no sin goes forgiven.

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A platform for young up coming writers in African countries. Where ideas are shared and we create our own Literature utopia......

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