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Assumptions are the quiet thieves of understanding, creeping into our minds and robbing us of clarity. They distort reality, sow seeds of discord, and cloud our hearts with unnecessary pain. This poem delves into the subtle dangers of assumption, urging us to pause and reflect before we react.

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A hand extended, met by air,
A silent void, a fragile snare.
In haste, my mind began to weave,
A tapestry of what I believe.

The stranger’s gaze, unseeing, still,
Yet I assumed a lesser will.
My heart grew heavy, hurt and torn,
A fire lit where none was born.

But time unveiled the hidden truth,
And crushed the anger of my youth.
The man I scorned had only strayed,
From my assumptions falsely laid.

For blindness cloaked his gentle eyes,
A world unseen, but rich and wise.
His hand had waited for a guide,
While I let judgment stand beside.

How often do we wear this cloak,
Of anger sparked by words unspoke?
How often do we fail to see,
The deeper truth of what could be?

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Assumptions are whispers of the mind, filling the voids of silence with tales that are often untrue. They blind us to reality, not unlike the blindness of the man I wronged. Let us learn to pause, to ask, and to give grace—because the echo of assumption reverberates only as long as we allow it to.

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