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Much like the sun

it rises each morning

with pronged, familiar fingers

Gently grasping



Unconscious bliss

only for five hours

Six, if one is lucky

A considerable blessing

even still

for the keeper of a burden

so eclipsing

that I’m shattered


its weight and beauty

For the weight of


and the act of


sometimes seem like

the only reasons

I’m alive

The only way

the dream survives

Please let me


this creeping thing called




’til the pen runs out

Maybe then

we can breathe 

Free again

© C.M. 2020 All Rights Reserved

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Ciao for now! 


Featured Photo: Engin Akyurt/Pexels

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