Monday, December 10, 2012

Day 345/366

A shiver up the spine,
A rustle in the moor,
The shadow of the man,
To homeward he does move.
Groping in the dark,
Bouts of listless depression,
Motivated by the sound,
It seemed, of a yesteryears tune.
Unwell, unrested,
Mastering the art of staying awake,
With high intent did he attempt
To make the great escape.
The walls around him grew,
As the nightmares turned to grey,
The murkiness of home,
Was forever there to say.

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