Before we begin, I won't pretend to seem reformed
When I commence with this important dissent.
Furthermore, don't put this up for later, not by the
Lamp in your den, nor on the shelf by the door.
The sins confessed here may fester the more you
Read and absorb. The theme itself, just addressed, is
Confession, secrets no longer conceal the
Truth of the lore. It seems the best way to voice this
Obsession beckons me more, and so the weapon a
Voice can become reflects in the form. Neglect can
Be so deceptive, it hoists the sails for the storm, but
Underneath the surface it surely deserts us,
Purposely hurts us, you see, it also put holes
In the vessel's floor. Retreat? No, it's worthless.
You'll sink and resurface in time to see that all
You've lost is your means and purpose, your
Dreams and your urges, and, among other things,
You've lost your fears and your courage. So,
Near the shore you swim, defeated and weary,
Afraid and nervous. In vain, you weathered the
Torrents of rain in painful observance. Still you
Remain submerged, restrained by the strength
Of the raging currents,
And you fail to see that you've become that fatal
Storm of disturbance.

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