Staring back with its pale,
white face, the paper mocks
my thoughts to disgrace.
Thoughts, they fade away,
leaving behind an empty room
filled with a dying flames haze.
Feelings of appeasement try
invading my soul. Somewhere it wins,
Somewhere it loses all hope.
But when all lights go dim,
I see a world in no one's sight
pouring tales in my mind
like a old tavern's aging rye.
With a new hope of a
fiery sky, I write for
glory. I write for the
day dreamer's rising cry.
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