The same dream, or should
we call it a replica,
Burns the ethos of his
sleep—Devouring the plagiaristic embers—of comfort, in which the happiness
Has stored, securely,
as an incorruptible sheath
Layer upon layers,
lies still somehow seep
Through each tier and
over the previous, a parallel exists,
To the safe harbors,
in which the fears find themselves squelched, amongst the flames that flee the
fray
Columns merge with
columns fallen,
Once majestic now dull
and grey,
Blankets submerge the
depths previously kept in submission,
Awakening the
collateral—a damage resting silently in place
And to ad nausea, it
folds again, and repeats into and upon,
Hovering and towering,
enveloping a trance built in patience, embracing the key swallowed by the unconscious
deep
Delving far past
mortal telemetries,
Protracting what’s
left of wisdom…we kneel
As our souls have
silently found a place to weep
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