My winter days are vaguely seen from here, but I cannot yet see the very end: only the plain that is the sum of fears, a sum that only living on transcends. The peek I take looks like my days back then. It's not so Batman noir as I've been told. My focus shifts to now; I find my Zen. The act of living life is growing bold. In dreams, that dreadful hour calls to me, and I feign sleep and turn my back on Death. If he can't be seen, maybe he can't lead, and I can soldier on with my next breath. My focus shifts to now; I find my Zen. It's good to gasp every now -n- again.
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