The Morning’s Light

Visions of hope and happiness emerge from the black.
Uplift, soothe, and entreat one to ideas of fairer seas.
All minds are set at ease.

As if in the arms of the truest love–The ever-sweet embrace,
Purest joys are offered on platters silver.
An eternity of good spirits within the confines of the head.
Without apparent end the feast carries on,
‘Til fattened and full by daily bread.

But soon dusk begets dawn,
And in an instant entire worlds, universes even, are wiped away.
Feeble hands grasp at the what was,
Only to be spurned by the what is as dreams begin to fade.
The bleak reality seems so bright,
But there is only true comfort in the falsities of the night.

In sleep are bliss-filled stories told,
As does mother to child, fantastical stories of old.
Imaginations inspired, naïve passions kindled and spurred.
A perpetuated lie reborn with every word.

Dreams melt alongside one’s will turned cold.
The whimpering death of the daring and defeat of the bold.
Pathetic in ones attempt to fight, and the true ever remains in spite.

No matter the force one can muster,
Be it of the heart,
The soul,
Or sheerest might.
All dreams die in the the accursed light.

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