Five
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At this point, five, while it's still dark, The past can be discarded, all its hooks And razors pushed behind. The future Remains out of view, still formless, not The thing which soon will have its Hand upon my throat. I stare out at some Distant lights, and drink the day's first Cup of coffee, wishing that I had the means To keep away the light. © Lawrence Beck 2022
Thoughtful and wonderful poem.
You can certainly see your writing skills in your work. All the time go after your heart.
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