The Quiet Hours

 

The quiet hours

Display a resolution

Their story is cheap.

 

Awake; I still dream

The thoughts rattle me

 

I compare them softly with you.

 

The illusion almost seems real.

 

Hoping for a delay

I stop the clock

Fate winks in distant times

I’ll meet her when;

the time is almost right.

 

The morning enters backwards

It shapes the day

I beg to nothing

Don’t let this day

Be the one to:

 

shape, my ever depressing life.

 

 

 

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