On the edge of dreams.

Cold darkness bears in through

the windows, with only the light

from above Β bringing life,

helping keep my fingers scurry

over the keyboards,

keeping the words appearing

on the screen;

stopping me from freezing,

or dropping off to sleep,

it is the dark time when

the imagination fires

into dreams of endless

troubles and magnificent

reveries of times to come

when the air will be cleaner,

wont bite the wearied skin,

when love will banish hatred

when spirituality will replace

economic greed,

and the world would be a better place.

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