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New Sun Rises

I’ve nearly awoken

From this dream

Crouched in a tight ball

Protecting my Self from the elements

And the walls

Brown, Grey, Dust.

The Biting Cold abates, subsides

Every so often

Suffocated by still, crisp

Stale Air.

Too Dry; far too Dry.

I’ve nearly awoken

From this dream.

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About the author cdub

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