Sleeping beside the obloquy's poet,
2:40 am,a candle seeks it's death:
In the plight of your dream.
Slow breathing,
Perhaps the moons learns of her slumbering,
Where the labyrinths of reposing,
Remembers the calm sought,
Of your silent silhouette,
Burn on the walls of the memory.
Are the dreams fluent?
And ever flowing as the heart which stirs,
The compassion of your lucid nature,
In the eyes...
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