Melancholia calls from within the crowd
Two faced abstractions diverts from solitude Therein lies the rub Alone in the cell, a crowd Each animus of nature has its own character In this play This circle divides yet offers no protection A shadow, a ring, darkness all round This light This light I look into this light Bathed in solitude Safe?
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Life.There is fiction. There is life. What is the difference? My WritingAll rights reserved. No part of this website may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by and information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission from the author. Archives
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