The book

.

Sometimes, when all the light of the world has run away,

When even the emerald lantern seen from another distant peer

Fails to reignite the spark atop the great lighthouse,

Sometimes, when even the most adequate song

Is unable to carry this purposeless soul

Over to the world of apple pies and wrinkled smiles,

Sometimes, in the rare and precious instants – yet lost forever –

When all other question has met with its answer

And when all possible solutions have not a single problem,

Sometimes, in-between one of those peculiar half smiles

When he feels paralyzed by the movement of each atom,

When white noise and silence both sing a capella,

Sometimes, in those moments of unknown violence

When unending freedom is forged into rusted chains,

And the old shadows have stopped dancing against the walls,

Sometimes, in those moments, then, he opens the book…

.


Sometimes, times some.

Also, feedback? Would be nice! ;)

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