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Is the Soul Just a Metaphor?

de The Dear Hunter

I thought that I was framed front and center,
But I'm distant and your depth of field is shallow.

Low light turn to night and all can be ignored.
Blind eyes,
Preoccupied with the surface more than the core.

Though my lens is cracked,
Right down the center I saw you,
And through shattered light,
Your beauty remained flawless.

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