The Sun does not rise,
rather it sits upon the evermore,
on the eve of tomorrow,
which is today.
A perilous shadow of yestereve,
though, clear as the clearest sea.
Its vision no longer fogs this
debacle of a reality,
that which has forgotten the now,
and the birth of pleasantries;
of passion, and of love.
I peer towards the stars,
into a far off timeless realm,
where I may never return
to this great old elm
that shelters me so kindly,
as I veer from the ship’s stern,
venturing off into that,
which I deeply yearn.
The great, great unknown,
wherever that may be.
Though I am uncertain of thee,
perhaps this is my home,
my everlasting serenity.
This may at last be
my freedom, and liberty,
from an uncertain future.
Though, as you can see,
I am madly in love with you.
Are you in love with me?
Or perhaps, one day,
might you be?
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