Writing in the dark

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His mind searches

too much.

It hunts
excessively
and winds up in stickers
at the lake
of insomnia.

The glint of contentment
is barely visible
through the forest
of doubt;
yet, he can always see a path.

The exploration
will always lead to
something.

Like picked fruit,
phrases will finally
be sweeter.

The chosen words will expose
more daylight
and string together like
leaves in bloom
as they meet spring.