What Dreams Are Dead?
What Rest Forgone?
For This Circle Of Sleep, I Don’t Belong.
In This Constant Time, In Which Life Divides,
I Waste Away My Prime With A Poem In Mind,
A Poem In Heart.
From The End To Start I Hear –
 The Splashing Of Dreams.
I See The Waves Apart.
In Cold Waters I Sail. Before I Start I Fail.
For My Coarse Of Sleep’s An Unforseable Trail,
A Wakeful Denial, Unjustifi...

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