The WarningBenjamin Miller
Before, morning came tapping, A sharp repeated pain like a woodpecker. Now this: dull in-wrapping of the brain, Blanket dragged across the carpeted halls Of sleep, and waking to a ragged-ribbon Sky. If only there were more than night To talk to, or a third to walk beside us - But here is only veil and doubt And the sound of water, spilling, In the hollows, futility.
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