to others, she encourages; alone she feels sick
no mortal seems to understand her tick
left with her only God of hide and seek
she transforms
against tide of conforms
but time and time again, it bombs
hurled to depths to well of reforms
back to Potter, the pot
is not so hot
time to divine crush
time to repurpose its lush
dizzy trends
she's so dizzy, her head is spinning
like a whirlpool it never ends
self-control gears needs cleaning
hit by fandango gale
clay turned a whiter shade of pale
time to revive its sheen to rustic shale
when out of control
healing balm psalms to troll
...because He is at my right hand,
i shall not be moved.
psalm 16:8
He healeth the broken in heart,
and bindeth up their wounds.
psalm 147:3 (kjv)
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