when the morning rises, but with cloaked sun, how can a man tell difference, between sleep and his Song?
Then, dark clouds are on our sun a leech,
Rainfull, it trespasses on our dreams,
Like it would hurt body, if soul would shun it.
Be it my calling, or something that marks my way,
But when grey sky blusters, in rue my soul staggers,
Tearing up a hole, once again.
And there do I dream, this shifty rue,
And it isnt anything new, just a few pictures
Old and forgotten, meaningless in their hue,
Though they still are, from inner sky, cut opened.
From it, came the weight of ages,
Nameless in it's every raindrop,
Bitter, shapeless and cold.
For this solitude, there are no words.
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