I hate the half light of morning,
Reminding me of what is to come.
New days breed new angst;
New angst there creeps a quiet.
Nothing is new
When the stench of dew
Reaches the half light of morning.
An aside, one point of opposition;
He that binds to himself a joy,
Does the winged life destroy.
But he that kissed the joy as it flies,
Lives in eternity's
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