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Beau Dawson Nov 2011
When reality is met we find our need to forget enlightenment,
We would rather run,
Then stay and battle our own resistance,
For some, survival is effortless,
Seeming so simple and serene,
But some are left to fight,
For if they do not they will fall,

The bottom you reach is empty,
A sad and lonesome place,
Yet the top is out of reach,
And could never hold your weight,

Beauty is in the eyes of every beholder,
But when the eyes meet yours,
Nothing feels colder than being incomplete,
Like an electronic gone obsolete,

Tis a shame how one must hold this weight,
The weight of your heart heavy with fear,
Useless and discouraged for no tangible reason,
The way you feel your mechanisms have been set,

You look in the mirror again,
Put on that face,
The strangers face,
The monster underneath that you cover for,
Secretly speaking in a tone that is dull,
    “Your nothing but baggage,
       A game that will never be won.”
For the happiness is on the out side,
Surrounding everyone but you,
In this sphere you stay encompassed,
With only one,

Consideration you must take,
For with your end all hearts would break,
Unannounced to you,
You matter,

Amidst this world of clutter,
Caring hearts are slow to say,
Appreciation not easily shown,
A thread barren heart that can not be sown,

Though your childhood was stolen,
Your future must we mend,
You must re discover,
Your Gods master piece,
Just waiting to be uncovered.
Dedicated to my dear friend Spencer

— The End —