As the gates of blind sights open
My mind feeds of dark light
The blackness of a muse.
Dreams dreamt dreams
Dreaming deep dreadful daydreams
At night.
Sinister as the foolish serpent to wise Eve,
Reality whispers to my dreams
"Time to wake up...and face the real thing".
It's ironic
That the pain of death is in living
And the joy of living is in dying.
Maybe...maybe if I be for eons unknown
Rest the distress in my chest
With every shut of sight's shutters,
Maybe I would be prepared to pretend
To tend to my fears as my cares.
But No.
As the gates of blind sights open
I bid joy good night
And weeping, a black morn.
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