01 January 2016


Will grow old in minor iniquity
Walking in the sun
Of my public grace,
An engraved preface
To some inner face.
Unsuited to life,
Counting days by cigarettes,
And an hour by the silence
Of fictitious fears.
The distance twixt the measure
And the emotion is the rub:
No undiscovered country,
But a sun is never there,
And I'll be never here.

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