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Oct 2019
A waivering head
With memories coursing though every finger
A grip on sleep once lost
Is held directly in hand
Though it cannot hold a candle to the perfect dark
But to pay the waking watchman's toll
Over and over again
Is no good for a weary traveler stead
Instead it's said, once lost in dreams
Such a peaceful hopeful magnificence
May be never found again
Let alone remembered upon awaking
It's hard to sleep in such a manner. Slightly torturous in truth.
Colm
Written by
Colm
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