Disconsolate by Esoteric
Although we may rationalise (sic),
Nurture our fate
Nothing can prepare or compare with
This immeasurable sense of loss
All can be calm
Until that thought arises
And plummets toward the ground
Time passes like the dripping of a tap
And sleep, becomes that time when the body can no longer
be awake
Each morning, eyes blearier than the night before
But it had passed,
As I was there within it
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