DaysA Poem by apennylateSunIf the sun doesn't set does it count as a day? Still tired of the same. If an issue is used up, does the problem become redundant? Dependent on individual assumption, I imagine creativity clashed with tedious peace. Can't fathom diversity is farther spaced, than when I sit cross-legged listening to racist debates. If imagination sanctioned grants carnal satisfaction... Why does the brain work this way? Am I a play-thing dead to the acceptance of acceptable retreat? Please grant me the strength to stand on my own two feet, against catches in spirit I lay stranded in my own way. Lessons, stamped in split-speak, a day ends as night dreams © 2024 apennylateAuthor's Note
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