An ashen and bitter voice
Crawls out of my mind
Despite the clear panes
Where a full life transpires
I am free to complain
To moan in distress
From the rolling silk seas
Where I bury my bones
Each night
I am free
To hew the old roads
Through skirmishes lost
Where valor resists
Against the currents of time
I am free
To be thankless and morose
Amid the brilliant glow
Of all heavenly delights
I am free
To be criminally young
The near-sighted son
Who implodes in his dreams

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