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Dusk Dawn

All the days of constant unchanging, I endure without questioning until this one. The days were much the same, and aimed at  responsibility, a will to provide for my son. But I look at it all and mourn for my soul, in pity the lost spirit of responsibility. It was in the days of ego, and grandeur that I loved myself heavily. I believed I couldn’t fail until this day. I’m questioning my age, and my will to see the continents of this earth to bread stories without comparison.

I dreamt I was a writer, a minstrel, and loving man. One who all could see without illusion I was good, but until this evening I cannot deny, courage is but a fraction of its usual stance. Courage, and passion are regressing into ape hood. I look through the centre of my being to find an aching entity.

Where are the symptoms of purpose which brought me to stay alive? Where are the signs of miniscule progression I created this plan to become the man I dreamt to be?

My values are fading, and my purpose changing. I feel less. Especially with the goals I’ve beset. I need a taste of sugar, maybe a touch of pleasure, maybe a sight of unmistakable beauty. ‘I’ in this context is the self who dreamt, but I lie here before the sleep I must partake and question if I am to dream much longer.

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