Followers

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You let yourself strike twice.
You give away your last shirt.
You look after the lost.
Your crown is not of gold.
Your throne is the street.
Your hands and your heart are broken.

How can we then live differently than sheep among wolves?

How strange

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often we automatically go on in the direction
of our plans of the past
instead to trust our emotions
we go on and go on
intuitively knowing  that our plans need a revision
instead to stop our ways to hear inside
we go on and go on

I mostly follow my heart