Cry of the loony bird

It was the sleep that seeped so steady within,

allowing the night to see.

As darkness filled the vessel,

all light would seem to dream;

breathing mounting one to another,

gasping for residue,

anything that it may grasp,

over a heaping,

clamoring view.

The dark would make its landing,

over all the waking thought,

preying upon the vitals,

leading on to desperate thought;

alas, there is no way,

as the way upon the senses,

confusing all that would be,

in the open simulation.

Walking along their ready made,

accepting empty truths,

just fitting in so neatly,

among the other rues.

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