By day, by day: as light repeats its route,

With each breath, my being becomes more moot.

To live benign, as tame as sheep or slaves,

With paths decid’d yonder, sour to thy taste,

Makes light a poison and darkness that which saves.

Bespeak of more, and yearn it every night,

Awake with lonely moans of writhing pain,

And know that all could be of better sight,

But what the eye beholds canth drive the mind insane.

Pain ith not beautiful in any manner,

Whe’er through a purpose or as simple waste,

For healing by living ith a black banner.

With every step toward a bright day,

Paths fog, shadows lurk, and lost is my way.


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