October 31, 2008
Thin shiny black hands circulate the face
Of one nocturnal pan; racing my own
Unrealistic vision of time, my pace
Condemning me. Oh woe, I should have known.

How the trees mock me now! Fragrant smells,
Wonderful scent of spring; cherry blossoms
Innocently hanging over like bells
Of sweet and pure heaven, but I’m lonesome

Pathetically I longed for freedom now,
I sit alone and cooped up, trapped in my
Cycle of dreaded work, undone and how
I want to give up, but will my marks dive?

Resist the temptations: relief is ahead
Waste time at the expense of your regret

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