I want to throttle the moonlight

By the time it falls dark,

I fold inwards and declare

to the moon, “I am done.”

But morning comes… again

and again, a relentless trade

of breath for thought,

of will versus instinct.

I am fed each day though

sometimes it is make-believe.

It is hard to meet the sun

halfway, though I carry light

within and through the ages.


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