Staring at my ever retreating horizons.
Watching, as the colours fade back into grey.
Can I pack my bag any better,
Now that I know where I'm going?
Am I any more likely to succeed,
For being older, and more tired.

Another day fades into dusk's waiting shades.
Should I mourn the death of another dream?
Another weary child finds sleep has no answer,
To the merciless sneaking and creeping...

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