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A turbulent two weeks, nothing happened - To us. Not much done nor lived nor conquered, The world closed The sun sheltered from work. And a reality hit like a Phobia, A Fear of crowds or activity, A fear of not. We thought – answers never came. In two hours the world will wake, Anxious fatigue will dwell like ***** goggles on a clear view, And in two rooms there is not enough air to breath. Two hours till waking, In bed we lie, And like half a soldier We conquer only what torments us, Nothing at all Only in our imaginations We are lost.
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Sep 17, 2009
Sep 17, 2009 at 1:38 AM UTC
Death On The Horizon
A turbulent two weeks, nothing happened - To us. Not much done nor lived nor conquered, The world closed The sun sheltered from work. And a reality hit like a Phobia, A Fear of crowds or activity, A fear of not. We thought – answers never came. In two hours the world will wake, Anxious fatigue will dwell like ***** goggles on a clear view, And in two rooms there is not enough air to breath. Two hours till waking, In bed we lie, And like half a soldier We conquer only what torments us, Nothing at all Only in our imaginations We are lost.
alexandercrockett
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Sep 17, 2009
Sep 17, 2009 at 1:38 AM UTC
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