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The silent scream... Heard by no one else but me. Of shattered dreams... No longer meant to be. The sound of silence... Never to be heard from again. A "wall of sound" so dense...
Only when a lion is poked and prodded does it turn and roar. Only when a whisper is spat on and silenced does it turn into a scream. Only when a life is faced with death does it become meaningful.
My dog really loves to be scratched On his ears and head Oscar, so cute, he makes me happy
We don’t talk a lot about ears, do we? They’re seen as simply the masses of flesh attached to the sides of newly Formed heads at birth Not seen in most respects as something of worth and yet
    I see you, when you see me I see trees dancing to the wind’s rhythm I see children making music in the park I see water moving down the mountain’s back
Ears that hear, hear sweet music. Music that bounces,  Music that soothes,  Music from your very own fingers,  Music that moves.  Having Ears that Hear are the most Important thing to me,
Eyes that  see Ears that hear  We read His Word; We hear His voice I find in Him my rest.
Indeed imagination is inundated inside interminable ideas, Pouring purposes, poetry-pondering pages pertaining panegyric phrases, Entrapped, effortlessly entombed - ears eternally earning effrontery.
My ears: they are the best of friends, and any quarrels my brain mends. That car is coming from your left proclaims the first, so smart and deft.
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