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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1735724-Gray-Skies
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by Poeta Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #1735724
Does it really matter?
I wake. Alone in the still, gray abyss.
There is no sun, there is no shine; darkness.
It consumes my soul, all things go amiss.
This dreary existence, utter starkness.
Where hath the sun gone? Its enduring light.
I’ve fallen into perpetual night.
How does the sightless bird take up its flight.
And soar like a kite, into a steep height.
This is folly, these foolish hopes and dreams.
Or at least that is what the Shadow deems.
I stand in darkness, where the blackness teems.
I pray though, for these incandescent beams!
Free my body, my spirit, my dark soul.
Who do I kid? I’ll never leave this hole.
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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1735724-Gray-Skies